#i’m talking to ao3 writers right now

[b-1327-1]

I will only achieve freedom and peace of mind once fanfic writers stop tagging oc works as “x reader”

[inseobts]

HAII, I heard your request is now open again and I wanted to request this!

wherein the reader has feelings for (any character you want!) and they friend zone her, and she gets the hanahaki disease!😁 they don't tell anyone until they're almost at the brink of death. well, you can choose if the reader lives or not but the character you choose will happen to realize they do have feelings for the reader and they were only confused at the beginning!

it's kinda like angst sorry😅 But I really want to see something like this from you, since you are an excellent writer! ty smmm

Petals in Silence

zoro x fem!reader

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim’s romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

a/n: wrote about this for one of my old kpop fanfics so I got really exciting to write this again for a different media

words count: 4.0k

tags: illness, angst and fluff, chopper and law being good doctors, unrequited love, slow burn, emotional hurt

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The first time you cough up a petal, it’s early morning.

You’re brushing your teeth in the bathroom when something tickles your throat. You cough once, then harder.

A soft, white petal drops into the sink.

You blink. Stare. It’s delicate. Real.

“What the hell…?”

You look up at the mirror. Your reflection stares back, pale and confused.

You cough again.

Another petal.

“No. No, no, no.”

You quickly wash the sink, flush the petals, and press a trembling hand to your mouth. You’re breathing fast now.

“What is this?” you whisper.

You sneak into the library on the ship when no one’s around. Robin might be there later, but right now it’s quiet.

You pull out an old medical book. Then another.

Finally, you find it.

Hanahaki Disease: A rare, fatal illness caused by unrequited love. The infected cough up flower petals as feelings deepen. The only cures are returned love… or surgery that erases all memory of the beloved person.

You reread it five times.

Then you sit back, stunned.

“No way...” you say out loud “That’s not real.”

But the pain in your chest disagrees.

You press your hand over your heart. It feels like something is blooming. Slowly. Cruelly.

You whisper the name you’ve been hiding in your heart for so long “…Zoro.”

You try to act normal during dinner. You sit beside Luffy and across from Zoro. You talk with Nami, laugh with Usopp. But you keep sneaking glances at him.

Zoro’s sipping sake, listening to Sanji rant about proper cooking technique. He doesn’t even look your way.

That tiny ache in your chest grows just a bit stronger.

You excuse yourself early and go to bed.

Later that night, Zoro finds you on the deck. You’re alone, staring at the sea. You don’t notice him until he speaks.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You flinch a little “Oh yeah. Just thinking.”

He steps beside you. Arms crossed “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m fine” you say quickly.

“Didn’t ask if you were fine,” he says, tone flat “I said you’ve been quiet.”

You don’t answer. You look away, afraid you’ll start coughing again.

“Anyway,” he says after a moment, “don’t push yourself too hard. You get weird when you're tired.”

You smile, small and sad “Thanks, Zoro.”

He nods and walks away, like nothing’s wrong. Like your heart isn’t trying to kill you.

You start avoiding him.

Not in a big, obvious way. Just enough to keep the pain small. Manageable.

You leave the room when he enters. You sit farther away at meals. You laugh at his jokes less. You pretend you’re busy when he trains, even though you used to watch him every day.

Still, he notices.

“You mad at me or something?” Zoro asks one afternoon.

You blink “What? No.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’ve been weird. Distant.”

You shrug “Maybe I’m just tired.”

He watches you, arms crossed “You’ve said that a lot lately.”

You force a smile “Guess I’m always tired.”

You walk away before you start coughing again.

Later that night, you’re alone again on the deck. Same spot. Same stars. Same sea.

Your chest feels heavy tonight. Your throat burns.

You cough hard. Petals. So many.

They spill from your mouth, red and white, soft and cruel.

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stop the sound, trying not to cry.

This is getting worse.

You fall to your knees.

It’s too late to stop it now.

The next morning, you can’t take it anymore.

You find Chopper in the infirmary. You pull him aside, whispering.

“Can I ask you something… privately?”

He looks up at you, curious “Of course. What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard “Do you know anything about… Hanahaki disease?”

His eyes widen.

“What?” he says “Why? Who—who has it?”

You don’t answer. Just pull a crumpled petal from your pocket and place it in his hand.

His face falls.

“Oh no… Y/N...” he whispers.

You don’t speak.

He looks at you with tears in his eyes “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

You give him the weakest smile “I didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not him.”

Zoro finds you the next day.

“You’ve been ignoring me” he says bluntly.

You sigh “I haven’t.”

“You have. What’s going on?”

You look at him. Really look at him.

Strong. Focused. Brave. And not yours.

You take a deep breath.

“Zoro,” you say softly, “do you see me as… anything more than a friend?”

He frowns “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer.”

He looks confused for a second, then says, “You’re a great friend. You know that.”

Your heart cracks right there “I see.”

He tilts his head “Why?”

You shake your head and step back “No reason.”

“Wait—”

“I have to go” you whisper, already walking away.

You cough again as you turn the corner. This time, petals fall from your hands like snow.

You visit Chopper again the next day. This time, you don’t bother hiding the blood on your sleeve.

He panics the moment he sees you.

“Y/N, sit down, right now.”

You do.

He shines a light in your throat, listens to your breathing, checks your heartbeat. His hooves are trembling.

“Your lungs…” he says quietly “the flowers are growing faster.”

“I know.”

“You’re in the second stage. If this keeps up—”

“I know, Chopper.”

Silence.

You break it first.

“Is there any way to slow it down?” you ask, voice thin “Just a little?”

Chopper hesitates “I can give you medicine to ease the pain. But it won’t stop the petals.”

You nod. That’s enough. For now.

He wraps your wrist where you’d scratched it raw from coughing.

“You need to tell the others” he says softly.

“I can’t.”

“Y/N—”

“No.”

He looks at you, torn between doctor and friend. But he nods.

For now, he’ll keep your secret.

At lunch, you barely touch your food. Sanji notices right away.

“You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” he asks, kneeling beside your chair with a plate in hand.

You blink “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Nami says across the table “You look like a ghost.”

Usopp leans in “Have you been throwing up or something?”

Your grip tightens on your fork “Just tired.”

“You keep saying that,” Luffy mumbles with food in his mouth “You said that yesterday, and the day before that, and the—”

“I said I’m fine!” you snap.

Silence falls.

You don’t look at anyone. You stand quickly, chair scraping back.

“I’m sorry. I just... I need some air.”

You rush out before they see your hand fly to your mouth.

You cough behind a crate on the lower deck. Violet petals. Tiny thorns. Blood.

You shake as they fall into your palm.

Someone walks by above you, and you press your mouth shut until your lungs burn. You can’t let them hear.

You slide down to the floor, heart pounding.

You can’t keep this up much longer.

That night, Zoro knocks on your door.

You don’t answer.

He opens it anyway “Hey. We need to talk.”

You sit on your bed, facing the wall.

He walks in slowly “You’ve been avoiding everyone. Something’s wrong.”

You don’t move “I’m just tired.”

“That’s not gonna work anymore,” he says “Your voice is weak. You’re pale. And you’re breathing weird.”

You say nothing.

Zoro narrows his eyes “Did someone hurt you?”

That makes you laugh. It’s a broken sound “No. Not someone.”

He waits.

You finally turn toward him, eyes glassy “I think I’m sick, Zoro.”

He steps closer “Sick how?”

You look down at your hands. But you don’t answer.

Not yet.

He understands and leaves you alone.

It’s been weeks.

You’re coughing more now. Petals come in waves, in your sleep, in the middle of meals, behind closed doors. You can barely hide it anymore. Chopper’s running out of ways to explain your pale skin and shaking hands.

Then one afternoon, Law steps onto the Sunny.

The crew cheers, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen the Heart Pirates. But you don’t move from the railing. Your body feels too heavy.

Zoro notices.

So does Chopper.

Later, Chopper finds you in the infirmary, Law just behind him.

He stares at you for a long moment, then sighs “Chopper told me everything. Including the petals.”

Your breath catches.

Chopper looks hopeful, desperate even “He thinks he can do the surgery. It’s risky, but it might work.”

You go cold “The memory one?”

Law nods “I can remove the infection. The petals. You’ll survive. But you’ll forget everything tied to the person who caused it.”

You don’t even have to think.

“No.”

Chopper gasps “What? Y/N, you’re dying.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper “I don’t want to forget him.”

Law watches you carefully “You’d rather die than let go?”

You nod.

There’s a pause. Then Law gestures for Chopper to leave the room.

He does, slowly.

Now it’s just you and Law.

“I don’t do emotional attachments” he says, leaning against the wall “But even I know this is stupid.”

You laugh bitterly “Yeah. It is.”

He folds his arms “You sure he doesn’t feel anything for you?”

“He made it clear,” you say, staring at the floor “He sees me as a friend. That’s all.”

Law raises an eyebrow “You asked him?”

“Of course, I'm dying... I asked if he could ever see me as more. He said I’m a great friend. That’s it.”

He doesn’t reply for a moment. Then quietly, he says, “You should tell him about the disease.”

You look up sharply “No. That’s the one thing I won’t do.”

“Why?”

Your voice cracks “Because I don’t want to be loved out of pity. I want it to be real. Not because I’m dying.”

Behind the cracked door, someone stands frozen.

Zoro.

He hadn’t meant to listen. He was just walking by.

He wasn’t trying to find you. Not on purpose.

But now your words are echoing in his head, and they won’t stop.

“I don’t want to forget him.”

“I want it to be real.”

He feels like something is unraveling in his chest.

Suddenly, memories flood in. You watching him train. Laughing at his jokes. Smiling when you thought he wasn’t looking. Bleeding silently.

And him, brushing you off. Pushing the feelings down. Because love was a weakness. A distraction. Something he couldn’t afford.

But now you're dying, and it’s his fault you’re alone.

He presses his hand to the wall beside the door.

“Idiot” he whispers.

He doesn’t even know if he means you or himself.

Zoro doesn’t sleep that night.

He leans against the railing of the upper deck, sword resting by his side, your words stuck in his mind like a thorn he can’t pull out.

“I want it to be real.”

“I don’t want to forget him.”

He tightens his grip on the hilt.

He doesn’t understand everything about emotions... hell, he usually avoids them altogether but he’s not dumb.

He heard enough to know what this is.

Enough to know you’ve been dying quietly, and everyone’s been hiding it from him.

The next morning, he finds Chopper in the kitchen, alone, fiddling with a pile of vitamins and bandages.

Zoro crosses his arms and speaks flatly “What’s wrong with her?”

Chopper freezes “W-Who?”

Zoro just stares.

Chopper sweats “You mean…uh…Nami? I think she had a cold last week—”

“Y/N” Zoro says, voice sharp “Don’t play dumb.”

Chopper drops the spoon in his hoof “Oh.”

Zoro leans in, towering over the small reindeer “I heard Law talking to her. I heard enough. Now tell me everything.”

Chopper swallows “I-I promised not to—”

“Chopper.”

“I—I mean—she’s—”

He folds immediately “Okay! Okay! It’s Hanahaki!”

Zoro stiffens “Hanahaki…?”

“She’s been coughing up petals for weeks. She’s in stage two, probably. Her lungs are already getting worse. If she doesn’t get surgery, she’ll—” Chopper gulps before continuing “She’ll die.”

Zoro goes completely still.

“And it’s because of—” Chopper shuts his mouth with both hooves.

“Because of what, Chopper?”

“I—I can’t say that part—”

Zoro crouches down, voice low “Is it because of me?”

Chopper's eyes fill with panic.

“That’s a yes.”

“Zoro...”

He stands up suddenly, knocking over a chair. His jaw clenches.

Chopper reaches out “Please don’t get mad at her! She didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want to make you feel bad—”

Zoro turns away, fists clenched “She’s dying and she’s worried about me?”

“She loves you,” Chopper says quietly “But she’d rather die than force you to love her back.”

Zoro doesn’t answer.

He just stands there, breathing hard and then he walks out.

Fast.

Not toward you.

Not yet.

He needs to get his head straight because for the first time in a long time, Zoro is afraid.

Not of losing a fight.

But of losing you.

You’re sitting alone in the small reading room on the Sunny, legs tucked up beneath you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. A book is open on your lap, unread. The words blur. Your head throbs.

You’ve been coughing all morning. You can taste iron in the back of your throat.

You hear the door open and close behind you.

You don’t look up “Chopper, I already took the medicine—”

“It’s not Chopper.”

Your breath catches.

You look up.

Zoro.

Standing there, arms crossed. Shadows under his eyes. A strange look on his face — like something sharp and unfinished.

You blink slowly “What do you want?”

He walks forward. No swords. No usual swagger. Just…Zoro.

“I know” he says.

Your stomach drops.

“I know everything. Hanahaki. The petals. That it’s because of me.”

You go still.

“I didn’t want you to find out,” you say quietly “Not like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want your pity.”

He sits across from you. His eyes are unreadable.

“You didn’t want to tell me... but you told Law?”

You wince “Chopper dragged him in. Said he could save me.”

Zoro stares at you for a moment. Then “You turned down the surgery.”

“Yes.”

“Because you didn’t want to forget.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

You speak first “I asked you once if you saw me as anything more than a friend. You said no.”

“I said you’re a great friend,” Zoro says “But I didn’t say no.”

You freeze “That’s not what it felt like.”

He leans forward “I didn’t answer you honestly. I didn’t want to answer.”

You whisper “Why?”

His voice is low “Because I was scared it would mess everything up. You’re... you’ve always been close. If I let myself feel something else, I thought it would get in the way.”

“Of your goal,” you say “Becoming the world’s strongest swordman.”

He nods once “I told myself there was no room for anything else.”

Your hands are shaking in your lap.

“And now?” you whisper.

Zoro hesitates. For the first time in forever, he looks unsure.

“I don’t know,” he says “But when I heard what you said to Law… that you’d rather die than forget me… I realized I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“I don’t know if I deserve this,” he says “But I want to try. If you’ll let me. I should’ve said it before you ever started coughing.”

Zoro’s confession echoes in the small room.

You sit there for a long moment, stunned, heart beating so fast it hurts more than your lungs.

But the pain in your chest doesn’t stop. In fact, it starts to burn.

That isn’t supposed to happen.

“I…” You swallow hard, forcing your voice to stay calm “Can I ask something?”

Zoro looks at you, still tense “Yeah.”

You grip the blanket tighter around your shoulders “Do you actually mean it? Or are you just saying that because you don’t want me to die?”

He flinches.

You nod slowly “That’s what I thought.”

Zoro opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

“It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to feel guilty. I’m... glad you care. But you don’t have to pretend to love me. That would hurt more.”

His jaw tightens “I’m not pretending.”

You give him a sad smile “Zoro... if this was real, the petals would’ve stopped by now.”

You cough hard. A violent shake rips through your chest, and something wet and warm fills your palm.

You look down.

A full, red flower lies there, soaked in blood.

Your fingers tremble as you wipe it away, turning your face from him.

“See?” you whisper.

Zoro doesn’t say anything.

He just leaves.

He storms through the Sunny like a blade cutting through mist.

Straight to the infirmary.

Chopper and Law both look up from the counter.

Zoro slams his hands down “Why isn’t she better?”

Chopper blinks “Wh-What?”

“I told her. Everything. I confessed. So why is she still coughing up flowers?!”

Law stands slowly “Did she believe you?”

“What?”

Law narrows his eyes “Hanahaki is rooted in emotion, not logic. You can say whatever you want but if she doesn’t believe it in her heart, it won’t stop.”

Zoro’s throat goes dry.

“She thinks I said it out of pity...” he mutters.

Law’s voice drops “Then her body still thinks it’s unrequited.”

Zoro swears under his breath.

Chopper tugs at his sleeve, eyes big and worried “Zoro, she’s getting worse. No matter what I give her, the petals will start to grow into her lungs. They’ll wrap around her ribs. After that...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Zoro steps back.

He’s never felt so helpless.

“I’ll fix it” he says, turning toward the door.

Law raises a brow “How?”

Zoro doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know yet. But he’s sure of one thing, this time, words aren’t enough.

The sun is setting. Gold light spills over the deck of the Sunny.

You sit alone again, wrapped in your blanket, watching the sea blur into the sky. The petals are getting worse now, they come up more easily, more violently. You can feel them in your lungs even when you're not coughing.

You don’t know how much time you have left.

You don’t hear Zoro approach.

He stands beside you silently for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he sits down.

You look at him. His expression is unreadable. Focused. But his eyes are storming.

“I’m not good at this” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

He pulls something from his waist. A worn cloth. He unfolds it slowly.

Inside is a small charm. Hand-carved wood, shaped like a sword crossed with a flower.

Your breath catches.

“I made it back on Wano,” he says “Took me three days. I almost threw it out. Thought it was stupid.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just the charm.

“I didn’t know why I was making it. I told myself it was just something to pass the time. But I carried it with me every day since.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Zoro finally turns to you.

“Because I didn’t just come here to say something this time. I’m here to prove it.”

He places the charm in your lap.

Then Zoro kneels.

Your heart skips “Zoro—what—”

“I’m not asking you to believe me because I said I care,” he says, voice rough “I’m asking you to believe me because I was a coward, and I missed my chance, and I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continues “Not because I feel guilty. Not because you’re sick. Because I’ve loved you longer than I was willing to admit.”

Your eyes well with tears. You shake your head “But... Zoro... why didn’t you—”

“Because I thought I couldn’t afford it” he says “But I realized... what’s the point of becoming the world’s strongest swordsman if you’re not there to see it?”

Your lungs seize.

You cough.

A petal falls into your palm.

Just one.

Small.

Thin.

You stare at it.

Zoro sees too. And for the first time you see hope in his eyes.

It’s slow.

You still wake up coughing sometimes but not with blood anymore. Not with full blossoms tearing your throat raw.

Now, it’s just a few pale petals, thinner than paper. Some mornings, none at all.

You’re healing.

And every time you wake up, Zoro is there.

Not hovering. Just close. Training. Napping with one arm slung over a chair. But always there.

He doesn’t say much. He lets his presence do the talking.

One night, you sit outside the infirmary, wrapped in a jacket that’s obviously not yours, too big, too warm. Smells like steel, sweat, and something familiar.

Zoro’s jacket.

He comes up beside you, leaning against the wall.

You glance at him “Still watching me?”

“Still making sure you don’t keel over,” he says “It’d ruin my day.”

You laugh softly “Chopper says the petals might stop completely soon.”

He nods “Good.”

You look at him “Do you remember what you said? On the deck. About… me seeing you become the world’s strongest swordman?”

Zoro doesn’t look away “Yeah.”

“Do you still want that?”

“More than ever.”

You swallow “And… do you still mean it? What you said about loving me?”

Zoro turns to you fully.

“I’ve said a lot of things I didn’t mean in my life,” he says “But that wasn’t one of them.”

Silence.

Then you reach out, fingers brushing his hand.

“Zoro?”

He meets your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

His answer is a quiet but firm “Yeah.”

You lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away.

He doesn’t.

His lips are warm. Dry at first... hesitant. But then you feel him tilt toward you, just a little. And his hand rises to rest on your back.

It’s not perfect. It’s a little clumsy. But it’s real.

And when you pull back, breathless and flushed, you cough but not a single petal falls.

Zoro watches you, eyes searching.

When he speaks, his voice is low “Guess that’s one way to test if it’s real.”

You smile “Feels pretty real to me.”

It’s been days since your last petal.

Chopper checks your lungs every morning now with his stethoscope and a hopeful smile, and every time he hears nothing but clean, healthy breathing, he squeaks in joy and flails his little hooves around.

You owe him everything.

Which is why you're now crouched outside the kitchen with a stack of pink cupcakes, a tiny hand-sewn thank-you card (drawn with crayons), and one extremely annoyed swordsman beside you.

Zoro crosses his arms “I still don’t get why I have to be here.”

“Because you helped me live,” you say, balancing the cupcakes with exaggerated care “And Chopper basically didn’t sleep for a week watching over me. We’re doing this together.”

Zoro grumbles “I could’ve just said thanks.”

You grin “And yet, here you are. Holding a party hat.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“You will wear it.”

He grunts again but doesn’t argue further.

You knock on the door.

“Chopper! Can you come out here for a sec?”

He waddles out, sleepy-eyed, blinking up at youmand freezes.

His eyes go huge.

The cupcakes are stacked with pink frosting, each topped with tiny candy flowers. The card is messy and full of stickers, and you made sure to draw you, Chopper, and Zoro in crayon (Zoro has three swords and a frowny face, just for accuracy).

Zoro groans beside you.

“Thanks for helping me” you say brightly, holding it all out “We love you, Chopper.”

Chopper’s cheeks go red “Wha—whaaa?! I—I—I was just doing my job! Y-You didn’t have to—!”

Zoro, looking like he’d rather be stabbed, mumbles, “Thanks, you tiny doctor.”

Chopper makes a noise. A mix between a squeak and a sob.

He bursts into tears, flinging his tiny arms around your leg and Zoro’s knee at the same time.

“I’m so happy you’re not dead!!!”

Zoro looks at you, completely frozen.

You just smile, slip the party hat onto his head, and whisper “Told you this would be worth it.”

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Flashbacks

synopsis: you recall the gradual shift in your relationship with fred when prompted by questions at a panel promoting the movie.

wc: 13k+ (...)

warnings: rpf! reader is specified to be inexperienced! major plot point actually!

a/n: loads of backstory! and banter! and pedro and paul! and kissing!

i hope the format is as intuitive as i think it is, but just in case it isn't, italics means the start of a flashback and bold is the return to present day. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

<<previous part

The energy in the green room was calm, easy. You sat perched on the arm of the couch next to Fred, laughing as Pedro recounted a story from a previous panel he’d spoken at. Fred’s forearm draped over your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your knee, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

The casual physical affection felt normal now, expected even. No one batted an eye. Not Pedro, not Paul, not anyone in the room.

Ever since filming began, your relationship with Fred had only grown in comfort and familiarity. The closeness of your characters on screen slowly but surely translated to your friendship in real life. And then something more…

Late nights of practicing scenes together turned into deep talks and sharing secrets in the warm light of his trailer. Only a few months into filming, the two of you were attached at the hip. Inseparable. It became a running joke. If anyone asked where either of you was, the answer was always with the other. 

-

“Where’s Fred?” An assistant called out onto the crowded set one day. “He’s needed in hair and makeup!” 

“Where’s y/n meant to be right now?” Paul asked, barely looking up from the script in his lap. The young girl looked down at the clipboard in her hands, combing through the schedules and call sheets. Costume department, she concluded after a few moments of frantic shuffling. “Well, there’s your answer then.”

Pedro had laughed for days recounting the story, shaking his head at how predictable you and Fred had become.

-

“Are you excited?” Fred’s voice softened, meant only for you now despite the buzzing room. You lit up with a smile and a nod. You were incredibly excited. You had never been a guest at a panel before. “Nervous?”

“Not really,” you shook your head and shrugged. “Just more surprised, I think?” You mused aloud with a tilt of your head. In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you were invited to the panel at this convention today. 

You knew that your role wasn’t as impactful as people told you it was, they were just trying to be nice. You had less than ten lines in the whole film. Being invited to a panel discussing the complexities of the plot and the acting behind it was an honor! But a confusing one.

You had a sneaking suspicion that, somehow, Fred was behind it.

“Surprised?” Fred asked, his eyebrows rising and dipping in quick succession in that way that they do. “Why?”

“Just that—” You glanced around, as if gathering evidence. “Everyone here was pretty high up on that call list.” Fred’s brows furrowed even further this time and you knew what was coming.

“Don’t do that to yourself, y/n,” he almost whined. “You were a driving force—”

“I’m not tryna minimize my work, Fred.” You chuckled lightheartedly, cutting him off before he went on a tangent. He was always quick to pop any bubbles of self-doubt that formed in your brain, but this really wasn’t the case. “I know I worked hard on this movie. We both did.” You held his hand in yours. “But… Alexander wasn’t invited.” You pointed out with raised brows. Alexander had played Ravi in the movie, the healer in the Colosseum. “I’m pretty sure he had more lines than I did.”

“But you definitely had more screen time,” came Fred’s quick rebuttal. “Actually, that’s why I told them you should come—”

“I knew it!” You exclaimed in a whisper, making sure your conversation didn’t attract any attention. You were enjoying the private moment in the crowded room and there was no need for it to end so quickly. “I knew you did this!”

Fred’s grin tilted, eyes glinting with quiet defiance. “What? Am I supposed to feel bad for wanting people to notice how good you are?” He laughed. “You had almost as much screen time as anyone here, but nowhere near enough lines. So I told them that your insight into your character and the plot was just as interesting, if not more.”

“Does this count as nepotism?”

“Shut up!” Fred giggled, lightly punching your shoulder. “I just feel like— If I can help you get the recognition you deserve, why wouldn’t I?”

“Alright, thank you all for arriving on time.” A producer spoke up, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and putting an end to your conversation. You turned away from Fred to face her as she spoke, a smile still lingering on your face. 

“We’re gonna start calling you guys out now, one by one. It’s gonna be in the order your names are set up on the table, so you just come out and sit in the chair farthest from your entry. Does that make sense?” She asked, receiving a few nods. “Is everyone ready?” Another round of nods and yeses left the group, yours along with them.

“Don’t overthink it,” Fred whispered to you with a squeeze of your knee. “Just enjoy the moment.”

At that, you could hear the producer hype up the crowd for the cast’s arrival.

“That’s our cue.” Pedro got up from the couch with a clap of his hands. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Fred replied, standing up along with Pedro. “How about you, old man?”

“Creaky at the knees, but it’s alright.” Pedro teased, giving Fred a playful punch on the shoulder. That’s when you heard Pedro’s name called out into the microphone followed by the crowd’s roar in applause and cheers. “Later, losers!”

One by one the cast was called out, Fred’s name being the last one before yours. You breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful to be sitting next to him.

“y/n l/n!” Your name blasted through the speaker, signaling your cue to head out onto the stage. You walked out with a smile and a wave, the crowd cheering at your arrival. You sat down at the long table facing the audience, right there next to Fred. 

Your name was printed on a place card in front of you, spelled right and everything. With every passing day of working on this project, you felt more and more that you had finally found your place in the world.

The producer’s voice blurred into the background, distant and dull. Your focus drifted to the sea of faces ahead—posters with your name in big bright letters, shirts with your face printed on them. Some people were even dressed as your character from the movie. It was surreal.

The warmth of Fred’s hand on your knee tethered you back to the present. His steady gaze met yours, silently reminding you to breathe. He knew how overwhelming it could all be. And he knew what you were thinking, he could see it too. He was so proud of you. 

Fred squeezed your knee twice, a small act to show you that he saw you. To show you that he was there for you. And maybe, cockily, he was saying ‘I told you so’. That your presence was wanted here, not just by him. 

“We’ll get started with questions from the audience then.” The producer announced, motioning for a member of the crew to turn on the spotlight facing the crowd. When the light turned on, it illuminated a microphone on its stand in the middle aisle between all the chairs, and, with it, an incredibly long line of fans. Each with a vetted question, the producer assured.

Most questions were for Paul, though that wasn’t surprising. Many for Pedro and Denzel, as well. 

You listened and laughed along, enjoying the easy going nature of the conversation. A lot of the questions were based on the acting, which was a topic well loved by actors of course. But some, as expected, were about the on-set dynamics.

“What was your first impression of your castmates?” A teenage girl asked Paul.

This launched a chaotic answer, with multiple people joining in at once, talking over the other and laughing loudly. 

“We all know that I was absolutely terrified of Denzel at the beginning.” Paul laughed, patting Denzel, who was sitting next to him, on the back.

“So was I!” Joseph cracked up. “But I thought Fred was such a sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded with him. “Fred was incredibly kind to me on my first day on set.”

“Kind?” Pedro questioned, eyebrows upturned in surprise. “Little asshole is what he was.”

“He saves the sweet stuff for her,” Paul chuckled.

“Yeah, well Pedro was an old man calling me short and she was a pretty girl who was lost.” Fred defended himself with his arms crossed, tone clearly kidding. The crowd’s laughter rose at the banter, even if it was obviously turned up for the panel. “Who would you help, huh?” 

-

It was your first day on set and your very skin was buzzing with how excited you were. Your schedule said that you should start your day in the hair and make up department, and you heard someone say that it was next to the crafts center. But you couldn’t find either of them for the life of you. And you should’ve been worried about being late for your very first appointment on the set, but you were just too enthralled with it all.

The set was beautiful! Malta, as a whole, was absolutely gorgeous, but the set was something else. It truly felt like you were transported back in time— if you ignored the cameras, speakers, and lights, of course. You had heard of Arthur Max’s work on other productions, and of course knew of his work on the first movie. But experiencing it first hand was almost an out of body experience. 

You knew that, when the time came, immersing yourself on the set would be a piece of cake. An actor’s dream really, that was what this type of set was.

“Uh, y/n?” Your name being called out from behind you caused you to spin around. “Oh, it is you.” The man’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Hi, I’m Fred.”

Fred Hechinger. You knew exactly who he was.

“I’m y/n.” You replied, stretching out a hand for him to shake. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah, well from what I hear, we’re going to be exclusively working together.” Fred laughed as he shook your hand. “Had to do some research on my scene partner.”

“Glad I’m not the only one, then.” You chuckled.

When your manager told you of his secured position as Emperor Caracalla, you knew you wanted to look him up. Many other actors accepted the role before flaking for ‘scheduling issues’, so you were never sure who you were actually going to work with. But once Fred’s acceptance was confirmed, you went on a deep dive. You watched as many of his shows and movies as you could, his IMDb tab constantly open on your laptop.

“They were calling for you in hair and make up,” he said. “I offered to look for you and help you find the way.”

“How did you know I was lost?” You raised an eyebrow as you asked. You weren’t really lost, more so taking advantage of the lack of directions.

“Oh, I know you’re not lost.” Fred shook his head with furrowed brows as he folded his arms, faux seriousness painted his expression. Fred’s effortless confidence had an unexpected charm. It was magnetic. “But if I tell them it took me a while to find you, then we can admire the set for a bit longer.”

Your surprise melted into quiet laughter.

And just like that, you had made a friend.

-

Back on the panel stage, you leaned into the mic, smiling softly. “He gave me a tour.” You recalled. “And he vouched for me at hair and make up, because I was almost half an hour late.”

“On your first day?!” Paul questioned in astonishment, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Ballsy move, y/n. I could never.” Paul tsked and shook his head at you in disappointment.

“Hey!” You called out in offence, throwing an arm up in Fred’s direction. “Blame Fred, he’s the bad influence here!”

“Entirely my fault.” Fred nodded with his hand raised. “I take full responsibility for corrupting the child.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re like two minutes older than me.”

“Two minutes?! For your information,” Fred pointed at the crowd as he spoke now, “I am years older than her. Years!”

Another fan stepped up to the microphone, pulling you back to the task at hand. “Were there any funny on-set moments or inside jokes that made it into the movie? Or at least stayed with you afterwards?”

“Bless you.” Pedro whispered into the mic, causing a wave of giggles to pass through the rest of the line up.

“‘Bless you’ was a good one, I liked it.” Joseph smiled before bursting into laughter at a memory, sending Fred a look from across the table. "Tell them about the sword!"

Fred groans, but the memory sparks in your mind—the clang of metal and his ridiculous deadpan expression.

Connie lets out a loud laugh as she recalls the incident. “Fear me!” She clapped her hands together as she giggled. “Oh, it was hilarious!”

“Fear me,” echoes in your head, and suddenly you’re there again, barely holding back laughter on the set.

-

It was a late night, you were filming the scene where the emperors confront Acacius and Lucilla regarding their treachery. Ridley had instructed Joseph and Fred to make their reactions as dramatic as they saw fit, considering how fervid the scenario would make the twins.

You had been filming for hours at that point, the energy amongst you growing more chaotic with each take. Everything was funny to you now as the sleep deprivation finally hit.

During one of the takes, Fred jumped out of his seat on the throne and grabbed a prop sword from a nearby guard, as was written in the script. He was supposed to point it at Pedro and Connie, yelling about their punishments, as Joseph held him back. But, with each shake, you noticed how unstable the prop looked.

A loud clang echoed in the marble halls of the set. The sword had fallen right off of its handle.

No one said a word. Fred’s face scrunched up in confusion and anger. He stared at the broken hilt in his hand, then at Pedro. Without missing a beat, he raised it like a dagger. “Fear me.” He whispered menacingly, nose to nose with the older actor.

That’s it. Pedro snorted so loudly that the entire set erupted into laughter. You and Joseph were crying from laughing so hard. Denzel was chuckling into his hand, and Connie was leaning on Pedro to stay upright. 

“How dare you mock me?!” Fred shrieked, staying in character, even when it was clear the take was a lost cause, if only to keep making the rest of you laugh. “I am your emperor!”

“Alright, alright.” You hear Ridley’s voice call out, winding down from his own laughter. “One more time, then we’ll call it a night. Someone fix that sword, please!”

None of you ever let Fred live it down afterwards. 

Pedro would grab a toothpick from the crafts table and follow Fred around with it, a soft and dark ‘Fear me’ heard under his breath.

-

"Honestly, I thought Ridley would leave it in the movie." Fred shrugs, laughing it off. “If only someone didn’t break and ruin it all.” He sent a teasing look to Pedro out of the corner of his eyes.

You wipe a few tears from the corner of your eye as you catch your breath. “It wasn’t even that funny. We were just so tired.”

“It was like four in the morning, we were done.” Joseph explained to the crowd, still coming down from his giggles. 

“Anything would’ve been funny to us at the time.”

After the crowd’s volume slowly dwindled, another fan came up and asked about Denzel’s performance. Denzel spoke about how much he enjoyed the freedom Ridley allowed the actors in this movie. How exciting it all was. 

Afterwards, someone asked about how Joseph balanced working on multiple sets at a time. Pedro joked about Joseph being sought after and hard to find, always in a different part of the world. Joseph shot back at Pedro that they were always together anyways, considering how they both were working on ‘Fantastic Four’ together.

Another audience member asked Connie how it felt to come back to this movie after more than two decades. She talked at length about the differences and similarities the two sets had. How it was both nostalgic and new. 

Someone else stepped up to the mic and nervously waved to the cast after the laughter had died down. “My question is for Fred.” Fred perked up and smiled, nodding at her to continue. “How did you prepare for the emotionally vulnerable scenes you had as Caracalla while staying true to both his character and his sickness?”

“That’s a really good question.” Fred nodded, his arm coming up from your knee to rub at his shoulder. It was so incredibly endearing to you how he reacted to attention. “It was important, definitely. To make sure that you weren’t just seeing his sickness, but the true him under it all. And I think Caracalla, the man and not the sick emperor, really shined in those vulnerable moments.” His hands gesticulated wildly as he spoke and you were enamored the whole way through, not expecting them to motion to you next.  “But, at the end of the day, I think you just really have to trust your scene partner.” 

Fred looked at you with a shy but knowing smile, “It takes a lot of practice to be vulnerable in front of someone, even if it is just pretending. And y/n was always incredibly kind and supportive whenever I lacked that—that vulnerability—that powerlessness. It wasn’t that I lacked it, per se. It’s just a difficult thing to tap into. And she was always there to help me through it.”

Your eyes dropped downwards as you felt your chin dip towards your chest, your head tilting slightly to the side as a smile grew on your face. The crowd awed in response to both Fred’s words and your reaction.

Fred’s compliment sent your stomach twisting in knots. You glanced at him, his hand went back to its previous position, resting on your knee, steady and grounding. It reminded you of that quiet morning on set when everything between you shifted.

-

The set was calmer that morning than what you were used to. The haze of sleep still clung to the few crew members needed on set this early. They shuffled about quietly, setting up for the day's shoot. Fred sat on the edge of the prop bed, script in hand, shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the lines that refused to feel right. 

You were sitting on a couch a few feet away, observing him, script laying forgotten in your lap. His fingers absently tugged at his earlobe, a nervous habit you had come to recognize at this point in your friendship. He had been having difficulties with connecting with Caracalla’s childlike vulnerability. And it wasn’t because he didn’t know the lines—Fred knew them backwards and forwards. 

It was the emotion, the raw vulnerability of Caracalla crying like a child to Lovie about Geta, that he couldn’t quite reach.

You had been running lines all night, but he wasn’t performing it to his own incredibly high standards. So you had told him to get a good night’s rest and that you could practice some more in the morning before call time. You spent some time researching trust building exercises, because you were sure that Fred had it in him. He just had to trust you enough to let it rise to the surface.

After you watched him run through the scene a few more times with no progress, you got a look of determination in your eyes. “Alright!” You inhaled deeply and dropped your script onto the seat next to you. “How about we try something else?”

Fred’s head snapped up at your voice, the both of you having been silently in each other's company prior to your exclamation. “Like what?”

“Trust exercises!”

He blinked, unimpressed. "y/n, I really don't think—"

“Come on, it won’t hurt to try!” You insisted, knowing that he was worn down and everything felt useless. But you had faith in him. “For me?”

He rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine.” You cheered quietly at his agreement. “What did you have in mind?”

You stood and moved to sit across from him, knees nearly brushing. "Eye contact. No talking, just hold my gaze. Nothing else."

“For how long?”

“As long as possible.”

He hesitated for a second but leaned in slightly, blue eyes locking onto yours. The silence stretched. At first, it was easy. The hours you'd spent together on set had built a quiet comfort between you. You were comfortable with each other now, as any pair of friends would be.

But slowly, the air around you shifted.

Had his eyes always been this blue? And so full of emotion? You wondered how you had never noticed these things about him before. The longer you looked, the more your chest tightened, like you were standing too close to the edge of a cliff. You swallowed hard.

Fred’s head tilted, his eyes scanning yours as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface. Then, without thinking, he lifted his hand and gently brushed his thumb along your cheek, swiping away an eyelash that had landed there. The touch was featherlight, but it sparked something within you. Something new.

You sucked in a breath, breaking the rhythm of your breathing and pulling Fred’s attention to your lips. 

He quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. "Sorry. You had—uh—you had an eyelash."

You barely managed a nod, heat blooming beneath your skin. The air had changed so suddenly. It was sharp, tense, and neither of you knew how to break the spell.

More crew members were starting to file in, calling out names and times. The usual hustle and bustle on set was rising. Your name was called out from one side and Fred’s from another, instructions to go to wardrobe for you and hair and makeup for Fred.

“I—I should go.” Came Fred’s stuttered response as he slowly got up and backed away, his eyes now finding it difficult to stay on yours.

“Uh yeah, me too.” You nodded with pursed lips, just as awkward as he was.

That was different, you pondered as you walked away. You had never seen Fred in that light before. You had never reacted like that to his touch. This was entirely new territory for you. You liked Fred.

Oh no.

How predictable. Catching feelings for your on screen lover. You had to suppress the eye roll. This was something you had promised yourself you wouldn’t do once you got into the film industry.

But how could you resist? Fred was so kind and caring, so helpful and affectionate. His smile never failed to bring a similar one to your face. Now that you thought of it, you were a bit surprised it had taken you this long to notice. 

You had a crush on Fred.

And you were almost positive he didn’t see you in that way. 

This was horrible, you thought as you reached the wardrobe department. You were regretting everything. Not only was Fred no longer just a friend in your eyes, you were sure that you had ruined any chances of him getting this scene right after this. You groaned quietly to yourself as you changed into your costume in the dressing room. What a way to start the day.

But later, as the cameras rolled, Fred laid in your lap, perfectly in character. Something was different about him. He seemed more… open. More calm. When you softly carded your fingers through his hair to comfort Caracalla, Fred’s hand drifted to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin without thinking. Almost in the same way he had that morning.

It wasn’t scripted. But you stayed in the scene, unflinching. You wiped away his tears as he moaned about his wretched brother and the empire he was forced to bear the weight of. He was delivering the scene perfectly. Almost like nothing unsavory had transpired between the two of you less than an hour ago.

Ridley, watching from behind the monitors, leaned forward. Eyes glued to the screen. Once the scene had played its course, he called it. "Cut!” His voice boomed through the speakers.

Fred carefully got up from your lap, though not straying far.

An assistant quickly came over with a walkie-talkie. Ridley’s voice broke through the static, fragmented but understandable. “Fred, that wasn't in the script."

Fred sat up quickly, already apologizing. "Sorry, it just—"

"I liked it. Let's run it again. Same way."

Your eyes flicked to Fred, wide in surprise. He liked it. Ridley liked it. Fred shared his own surprised smile with you.

He finally got it. That obstacle was overcome. And Ridley noticed. It was exciting to have your work appreciated in that way. And he had you to thank, even if you thought otherwise.

And, in the process, something had shifted between you.

-

Then someone asked Paul who his closest friends were on set, pulling you back to the present moment. 

“You want me to make enemies of my colleagues now, do you?” Paul chuckled nervously, garnering a laugh from the crowd. “No, in all seriousness, I made many great friendships on this set. Pedro, of course Denzel, Connie, all great mentors that I can call friends now, I think. But who I spent the most time with on set? That would probably be Fred. Fred and y/n, yeah. They’re a package deal, as well. So yeah, it was always us three.”

His answer takes you back to a pivotal moment you had with Paul on set. You knew from then that he had your back, in every situation. Even in matters where he had no stake, you knew you could trust him. 

-

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky over the ancient stone set, casting long shadows across the Colosseum replica. The usual hum of activity filled the air. You were sitting on Caracalla’s throne overlooking the arena, legs dangling off the edge as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone.

Paul plopped down beside you with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

“Easy!” You laughed. “What did the chair ever do to you?”

Paul leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, completely disregarding what you had said to him. “Who are you texting?”

“No one.” You locked your phone quickly.

Paul’s smirk deepened. “So it is someone.”

“No, Paul.” You shot him a look.

He tilted his head and grinned. “Oh, so it’s Fred.”

Your stomach flipped. “Paul!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

“Oh, come on!” Paul leaned back, arms stretched behind him. “When are you not texting Fred?”

You groaned as your palms covered your eyes in embarrassment. “It’s not—” you mumbled before smothering your face in your hands.

“Not what?” Paul teased, nudging your knee with his.

“It’s not a big deal.” You exhaled, peeking at him between your fingers. “We’re just friends. Don’t make it weird.”

Paul gave you a flat look.

“Friends?”

“Yes!”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Okay.” He shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“Thank you.” You breathed out in relief, glad he was letting it go.

After a short moment of silence, he spoke back up. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He motioned to the air between the two of you with his pointer finger. 

“Paul—” You groaned, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“And I’d like to think that Fred and I are friends as well.” He leaned towards your side in his seat now, coming face to face with you. “I don’t take long walks with him on the lot, hand in hand. He’s not giving me his jacket when I’m cold. He didn’t let me braid his hair in the hair and makeup trailer.”

You glared at him. “That last one was one time.”

“Not the point.” Paul leaned closer. “He’s different with you.”

You bit your lip, looking away. “I don’t know… Fred’s—he’s sweet. He’s friendly. That’s just who he is!”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, but he’s not that sweet or friendly with anyone else.”

You stayed quiet, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hem of your costume.

Paul’s tone softened. “Don’t sell yourself short, y/n.”

Your eyes flicked to his, hesitant but curious.

“You’re smart, talented, and funny. And let’s not pretend the Roman attire doesn’t suit you perfectly.” He gave you a playful nudge.

You laughed despite yourself. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Paul’s grin changed into something more sincere. “Fred should consider himself lucky that you like him.”

Your cheeks burned.

“I just don’t want to—” You mumbled and trailed off. “Ugh, I don’t know. I don't want to make things weird between us.”

“You two are too stubborn for your own good. Someone’s gotta give.” Paul mumbled before raising his eyebrows at you. “You can’t yearn forever.” 

“Can’t I?”

His gaze softened as he took in your expression. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

“What?” Your brows furrowed and you shot up in your seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paul laughed in shock, pulling back and looking out onto the expanse of the set. “Wow.” He muttered to himself. “I can’t tell which of you is dumber.”

“Hey! I can still hear you!”

“Maybe put some of your other senses to use then, idiot!” Paul retorted as he got out of his seat, the speakers on set calling for him to go someplace or other. He walked away mumbling to himself, leaving you sitting there, staring after him, unsure of what to think anymore. 

-

“And I, of course, was chopped liver.” Joseph spoke solemnly to the crowd, dragging you out of your reminiscence. “Paul loved Pedro, Denzel, Connie, Fred, and y/n. But not poor old Joseph.” 

Paul stumbled over his words as he backtracked. “And Joseph! Of course, I was always with Joseph!” Paul cried, pleading with an unyielding Joseph. All a bit to keep everyone entertained, you knew.

“No, no, you can’t undo what’s been done.” Joseph shook his head dramatically at Paul as he motioned for the next person to step up to the microphone. “You have made an enemy tonight, Paul. I hope you’re happy.”

“My question is actually for Joseph.” The fan sheepishly spoke, sending Paul an illusionary apologetic smile.

“I have what you can never have, Paul. The love and affection of the general public.” Joseph deadpanned as he looked over at Paul before turning back to the girl at the microphone. “Go on, darling. What’s your question?” Joseph smirked as he looked away, leaving Paul rolling his eyes.

“Well, um, Paul and Pedro had extensive physical transformations they had to undergo to prepare for the role.” Joseph rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at the mention of Paul, the joke still running. “What did you have to do to prepare for Geta?”

“Not much, actually.” Joseph snorted. “I got really interested in the history of it, but in comparison to Paul and Pedro? Yeah, we got off easy. Didn’t we, Fred? Just loads of eyeliner.”

“Yeah.” Fred laughed as he nodded. “Shaving and eyeliner was our morning routine for a few months.” The crowd, as well as the cast, laughed at Fred’s note. “Emperor Caracalla is clean shaven, but I’m not.” He chuckled, hand instinctively rubbing at his chin at the thought of his light beard. “So I had to shave almost everyday, but that was about it for me.” With a glance towards you, you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

-

It had been another late night in Fred’s trailer. You were curled up on his couch, legs tucked under you, as you watched Fred pace back and forth. He had been reviewing lines, occasionally muttering to himself, but you hadn’t been paying close attention, not until the soft scruff along his jaw caught the light.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Fred,” you called softly.

He paused, blinking at you. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You’re getting a little...scruffy.”

Fred instinctively brought a hand to his chin, rubbing over the light stubble that had started to grow in. “Ah, shit.”

“What?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Sam’s out sick,” He explained. “Usually, they shave me every morning. I don’t know how I forgot about it today. Emily needs me to be clean shaven tomorrow.” He mumbled lightly, as if he was only thinking to himself out loud.

You pushed up from the couch, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. “Let me do it.”

Fred blinked. “What?” It was like he forgot you were here for a moment. Or, more accurately, he forgot that you were actively listening to his stream of consciousness. He didn’t expect you to offer to solve this non-issue for him. 

“Let me shave you,” you repeated, stepping closer. You gently grabbed his chin, feeling his rough hair between your fingers. You turned his face this way and that, appraising the work you’d have to do if he agreed. “I mean, you can say no if you don’t feel comfortable with your fate in my hands.”

He giggled, eyes softening as he watched you study his facial hair. “Is this another trust exercise?”

You smirked, eyes lighting up and looking back into his. “Maybe.”

Fred considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, Lovie. Have at it.”

The nickname sent a small spark through you, but you shook it off, hiding your grin as you gestured for him to follow you to the little bathroom in the corner of his trailer.

Fred settled on the closed toilet seat after you patted it, a silent command to sit down. He looked up at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. You rummaged through the small drawer under the sink, pulling out shaving cream and a razor.

“Fear me.” You whispered as you held aloft the blade, watching Fred roll his eyes at the reference.

“You better not botch this,” he teased, leaning back. He couldn’t help but admire you from this angle. The bathroom lighting highlighted your features so beautifully, though he was sure he’d think that of any lighting.

“It seems easy enough.” You shrugged as you squeezed a bit of shaving cream onto your fingers, rubbing your hands together before gently spreading it over his jaw. The cool foam made him shiver slightly.

Fred’s eyes got wide, his head frozen in your grasp. “You’re telling me you’ve never done this before?”

Your eyes sparkled as you raised your brows excitedly, grin wide. “I’m testing your limits. Is this one of them?”

You saw Fred’s eyes dance back and forth as he thought this through. It seemed the risks outweighed the cons, though not by much, because he nodded apprehensively. “Do your worst.” His eyes widened once more and then he winced. “That’s just a saying, please actually do your very best. Don’t hurt the money maker, alright?”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes with a snort. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Now hold still.”

Slowly, carefully, you dragged the blade along his jawline, your hand steady. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, but he didn’t move. His breathing slowed, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you in silence.

The room felt smaller.

Your thumb gently tilted his chin, guiding him where you needed. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You’re doing well,” you murmured, focusing on the careful strokes of the razor.

“So are you,” Fred hummed. “You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I’m that good, huh?” You chuckled, feeling him nod in response with the slightest dip of his chin in your palm. “Maybe I should go pro.”

“You’d leave all the glitz and glamour of being an actress and come shave my scruff every morning?” He asked, laughter lacing his words.

“You’re giving away Sam’s job that easy?” You raised your brows.

“To you? Of course.” He chuckled lightly. “Everything’s easy when it’s you.” The words slipped out, softer than he meant. The air thickened, and Fred’s eyes widened a fraction too late. The words weighed heavily in the space around you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours at your silence. Whatever he said must’ve been the wrong thing to say, he thought, because your facial expression was unreadable to him. “I’m sor—”

“Everything’s easy when it’s you too, Fred.” You whispered back before he could complete his sentence. With one final swipe of the blade along his jaw, you stepped back from him and the moment. “There. All done.” 

-

You smiled to yourself at the memory, glancing back at Fred next to you. You preferred him with the facial hair, you concluded. 

“Who was the best mentor on set?” Someone else asked once they had their turn at the microphone, the question not directed towards anyone in particular. But Joseph took it upon himself to answer for someone else.

“I know who Fred’s gonna say.” Joseph whispered into the microphone, causing Fred to roll his eyes.

“It was me.” Pedro smirked, flexing his biceps and wiggling his eyebrows at Fred. “He can deny it all he wants, but I pushed that kid when he needed it. Didn’t I, Freddie?”

“You did.” Fred mumbled, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Pedro pumped his fist in the air. “Those stories are private, for Fred’s sake. But I’m a good mentor!”

“The best there is.” Fred confirmed, a slight blush colored his cheeks as he snuck a glance at you.

-

It had been a while since the moment Pedro cemented himself as Fred’s mentor in the younger actor’s eyes. He had learned a lot from him. Both as an actor and as a human being.

But something changed between Pedro and Fred one day. 

A day where you had been utterly exhausted. You were filming in a grand room, the scene depicting a party or gathering of some type, you couldn’t recall the details. Everything was as opulent as you would expect with the twin emperors, of course. 

You and Fred had been up all night, bingeing movie after movie, showing each other your favorites and analyzing every scene. When you saw him the next day on set, you were shocked at how awake he was. Everything felt like it was in slow motion for you. You had never been more appreciative of your lack of lines in this movie.

After a few takes of you blinking slowly in the background, Ridley had called for a break. Something wasn’t right with the focus on a few cameras and a monitor or two needed recalibrating. Technical issues that shouldn’t take too long to fix. An assistant director said the issue could take about half an hour to resolve, so you turned to Fred, a silent question in your eyes and a slight pout on your lips.

You and Fred cuddled often, but never outside of his trailer. Movie night was just an excuse for you to curl up in his arms at this point, though neither of you ever acknowledged that. 

But you were so tired, and the pillows on the couch were decorative and stiff. And Fred was right there. It would only be thirty minutes. Just a quick lie down.

Fred saw your face and knew exactly what you wanted from him. He leaned back into the couch and patted at his lap, giving you space to lie down. It didn’t even register to him that anyone would notice nor care. 

His hands instinctively went to brush his fingers through your hair, your nightly routine as of recently. With his cologne and his warmth enveloping you, as well as the soothing motion of his fingers against your scalp, it was less than five minutes later that you were snoozing away.

Pedro looked over and saw the two of you cozied up together and couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the scene. He had been trying to throw hints at Fred for weeks about the two of you. It was clear as day. But neither of you was brave enough to bring it up, fearing the other’s lack of reciprocation. If only you two could see what everyone else saw.

He shared a look with Paul, who was watching along with him. “Go talk some sense into him, Pascal.” Paul snickered lightly, giving Pedro a slight shove in your direction. 

“I’ll try my best, Mescal.” Pedro sighed. 

“Is she out?” He asked quietly once he had settled down beside Fred on the couch, not wanting to wake you up.

“Like a light.” Fred muttered, eyes never leaving your sleeping profile. “It’s my fault, really. Kept her up all night.”

“What did you watch this time?” Pedro smiled, knowing of the private movie nights held every evening in the trailer next to his.

“The Godfather.” Fred answered. “Actually, both of them.”

“The sequel is amazing.” Pedro nodded, but he wasn’t really engrossed in the conversation as much as he was in Fred. It was hard not to admire Fred as he admired you.

“Definitely.” Fred nodded, not even sparing Pedro a glance. The boy was in love and he didn’t even know it. But so were you, to be fair.

“She’s just as bad as you are, you know? Thinking too much, scared to say something first.” Pedro mused, eyeing you curled up in Fred’s lap. You never looked as comfortable as you did in Fred’s presence. Pedro leaned in and his voice dropped an octave. “You should tell her.”

“Huh?” Fred is finally pulled out of the trance you had unknowingly put him in, snapping up to look at Pedro for the first time since he sat down. “Tell her what?”

“I’m saying,” Pedro emphasized each word, “She’s just as oblivious as you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should tell her how you feel!” Fred instinctively cupped his hand around your ear, guarding you from Pedro’s sudden laughter like it was second nature. You hadn’t even flinched, too deep in your slumber to notice. But Pedro did, he noticed Fred’s subtle protectiveness. It was sweet. And increasingly frustrating.

Fred scoffed, his cheeks glaringly crimson. “I think I’d prefer not risking those odds.”

“Buddy, trust me. Every single odd is in your favor.”

“Don’t quote the hunger games at me right now.” Fred rolled his eyes. 

Pedro frowned in frustration, leaning closer to Fred. “You really don’t see how gone she is for you?”

A few moments of silence pass between them. Fred’s eyes on you, and Pedro’s eyes on Fred’s lovesick expression. “...You really think she likes me back?”

“She’s not sleeping in my lap, is she?” Pedro smirked, standing back up. “Just think about it, would you?”

-

Fred buried his face in his hands to cover up his flushed cheeks. You shot him a concerned look, but he shook his head to ease your worries. You didn’t know about what had transpired between Fred and Pedro in the same way Fred didn’t know about what happened between you and Paul. And you both wanted to keep it that way. Too embarrassed that everyone else seemed to know of your affection for the other before you did.

“Did any unscripted scenes make it into the movie?” someone asked, pulling you back to the crowd once more.

You and Fred immediately glance back at each other with shy smiles.

Paul talked about the scene where he kissed Pedro’s forehead in the arena, even though it was technically cut. 

But then he turned to the rest of the table. “What about you, Fred?” He asked pointedly, noticing how you had looked at each other when the question was asked. “You had a scene they left in, didn’t you?”

Fred chuckled nervously, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah, a few made it in. But… you probably mean when I called her ‘Lovie,’ right?” The crowd roars in response and Fred’s ears turn pink as he tugs at them. “Yeah, about that…”

-

Fred had started calling you Lovie after that day he was having difficulties with that one scene. He hadn’t even realized when it started, but now, it was just second nature.

Today was the day you would be filming a scene you were dreading. The day Caracalla, the sick emperor you had spent months embodying a devotion to, would die. And you were taking it hard. You had somehow made a place for him in your heart. 

Fred thought it was sweet how your affections grew for his character. He assured you that he understood, working on a long term project like this always leaves an imprint on actors. 

The filming schedule on set didn’t rely on the order of the scenes, but more on the availability of certain sets and certain crew members. So even though this was nowhere near the last scene you had to film with Fred as Caracalla, nor was filming coming to an end anytime soon, you were filming Fred’s last scene in the movie.

The wardrobe department was a maze of fabric and armor, with soft R&B muffling through a nearby speaker, someone no doubt wanting to lighten the atmosphere in the stuffy warehouse. 

You sat hunched in a chair, eyes locked on the hem of your sweater, fingers twisting the fabric. You and Fred were waiting together to be given your costumes for the day.

It all felt so much heavier than you expected.

“You okay?”

Fred’s voice was gentle, but you didn’t lift your head. You just let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

“I’m being ridiculous.”

He came to crouch in front of you, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully. “No, you’re not.”

You sighed, pressing your palms to your face. “I’m getting emotional over the death of a villain in a movie.”

Fred’s head tilted. “Hey, we both know he wasn’t really a villain.” His voice carried a soft laugh with it.

Your lips twitched upward. “He was just misunderstood.”

“And syphilitic.”

You let out a wet laugh, wiping your face. “Yeah, and that.”

Fred grinned, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. Slowly, he stood and offered his hand. “Dance with me, Lovie.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

“Come on,” he urged softly, fingers still outstretched.

The nickname barely registered in your mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt different now, like a natural extension of you.

You slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

Fred’s palms settled at your waist, hesitant at first. But when you leaned in, looping your arms around his neck, his grip tightened, like letting go wasn’t an option. You swayed together, slow and easy, surrounded by walls of costumes and muffled music.

“How dumb is this?” you whispered, though the corners of your mouth lifted.

“It’s not dumb, Lovie.” Fred shook his head slightly, his hand gently smoothing over your hair. “Nothing you do is dumb.”

The nickname lingered in the air.

You exhaled, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“I’d take care of him so well,” you murmured, only slightly serious.

Fred let out a soft chuckle, his breath warming the top of your head.

“You did, Lovie,” he whispered back. “You did take care of him.”

And later, when you filmed the scene, the two of you covered in fake blood and silks, you couldn’t differentiate your character’s tears from your own. It all felt like the end of something. It felt like mourning.

When Fred said ‘Lovie’ instead of ‘My love’ as he wilted in your arms, you didn’t even register the deviation in the script. Only when it was over, when Ridley’s voice crackled through one of the hand held radios, did it hit you.

“Beautiful. Keep calling her that, Fred.” Ridley commended. “Lovie. Should’ve thought of that myself.”

-

“So what he means to say,” you spoke to the crowd, “is that my dramatics fundamentally affected the movie.”

“She was actually so sad,” Fred frowned, “It was heartbreaking. It was an honest mistake, though. Calling her ‘Lovie’.”

“But did you tell them where it came from?” Connie asked, teasingly looking at Fred.

“We uh—” He chuckled bashfully. “y/n and I called her character ‘Lovie’, because it was hard to workshop a character with no name.”

“And then ‘Lovie’ stopped being the character’s nickname,” Pedro chimed in with further explanation, “And it started being y/n’s.”

“I thought it was so sweet.” Connie sighed. “And it suits her so well.” 

“Ridley loved it, too.” Denzel joined. “I heard him grumbling over the radio. Something about how he didn’t think of it before.”

“No one cried when Fred cut off my head, though.” Joseph shrugged with a shake of his head. “Take from that what you will.”

“Actually, I did.” You corrected him with a smirk. “Don’t underestimate my propensity to get emotional when it comes to film.”

“Did you?” Joseph perked up, leaning forwards to look at you across the table. “Did she really?” He asked Fred, like he was the authority on all things true about you.

“Oh yeah.” Fred nodded. “And the scene where Caracalla asks where his brother is. Inconsolable. Sad movies are her weakness. You should’ve seen her when we watched ‘My Girl’.”

“Don’t bring that up right now.” You closed your eyes and shook your head solemnly, raising a palm in Fred’s direction. “He wasn’t wearing his goddamn glasses, Freddie.”

“It’s alright, Lovie,” Fred chuckled, speaking away from the microphone as he leaned closer to you. His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear. “We’ll watch a happy one tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You nodded at him, a smile growing on your face. Fred never failed to make you feel special, like you were a priority to him. Your choices always came above his, no matter how hard you insisted. It was so easy to love him.

“And our final question to wrap up the panel—”

“Make it a good one!” Pedro called into the microphone, a laugh rippling among the crowd in response.

“Come on up, don’t be shy.” The producer smiled at the young girl last in line to ask a question. “What did you want to ask the cast, honey?”

“What was your first kiss like?”

An ‘aw’ passed through the crowd as well as the cast on a stage. But a slight sweat began to coat your palms. You had been admiring Fred and his kindness only a moment ago. So tranquil, almost like you weren’t sitting in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. But this one question sent a shock of electricity up your spine. You were an actress, you reminded yourself. They wouldn’t know if you told the truth or not, would they? 

You heard Paul mention a school dance, and Pedro talked about a pool party during summer break. Denzel mentioned his wife, Connie spoke briefly of a night in Paris when she was a teenager. Joseph and Fred had similar stories, a stage kiss for a school play and a local production. 

When your turn came, you stuttered over your words. It didn’t feel like you had enough time to make something up, at least not something believable. “I guess—uh—technically, it was on screen.”

“Technically?” Joseph asked, confused. 

“Yeah,” You swallowed as heat bloomed across your cheeks. Your lips were upturned ever so slightly as you recalled that day. “My scene partner offered to practice with me before filming. It was much sweeter than it sounds.” You laughed before letting out a sigh. “It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever.”

-

It was the night before you would film your first intimate scene with Fred. The two of you were sitting on his couch, scripts open but long forgotten. The quiet of the trailer is filled with the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages as one of you shifts. You could feel Fred’s presence next to you, close enough that your knees brush when either of you adjusts your position.

“I don’t think Caracalla’s ever had anyone look at him the way Lovie does,” Fred mused, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, contemplative, like he’s voicing a thought meant only for himself.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the sincerity in his tone. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his blue eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “It’s like… even through the haze of his sickness and his trauma, he’s desperate to be seen. And she’s the only one who really does that for him. He doesn’t know how to love, not really, but he tries in his own way.” His gaze shifted to yours, a small, delicate frown tugging at his lips. “It’s tragic really.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his expression, the way he’s peeling back a layer of himself in his explanation. “I think Lovie sees that too,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “And maybe that’s why she stays.”

Fred’s smile faltered, his brows furrowing as he studies you. “You think she chooses to stay?”

“I think…” You paused as you pondered. “I think she’s grown to love him somehow, through this strange, abusive, co-dependent… thing they’ve got going on. And she’s choosing to stay. What you do with love is a choice,” you replied, your voice tinged with something wistful and raw. “Not everyone handles it as carefully as they should.”

The air between you shifted, growing heavier, thicker, as the weight of your words lingered. 

It didn’t feel like you were talking about your character’s anymore. Fred’s eyes didn’t leave yours after you spoke, and you suddenly realized how close he was sitting. His knee brushed yours again, and this time, neither of you moved away.

“Does it scare you?” he asked, his voice impossibly quiet.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs. “What?”

“Getting it wrong,” he said, his gaze searching for something telling in your eyes. “Love, I mean.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you held his gaze, unable to look away. “Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “It does scare me, I suppose.”

Fred nodded, a flicker of understanding passed over his face. “Me too.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, without thinking, Fred reached out, his hand brushed against yours where it rested on the cushion between you. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through you.

“I guess that’s why it’s easier on set,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “You get to pretend, just for a little while, that you know what you’re doing.”

You laughed softly, but it caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“Fred…” you started, your voice trailing off as his fingers curled gently around yours. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” You confessed, eyes falling down to your lap.

“I know.” He replied. 

You furrowed your brows and lifted your head to look at him questioningly. “You know?”

“Yeah y/n, of course I know.” Fred smiled softly, reassuringly, “I think I would be a bad friend if I couldn’t tell that you were nervous. And I’ve seen your filmography, I know you haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

You didn’t know if it was a relief or not that he thought you were only nervous about the shoot. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, eyes flickering downwards. “Never for a project, no.” You hoped he wouldn’t catch the half truth. Or maybe you hoped that he would. You weren’t sure how you felt about all of this.

You liked Fred. You knew this about yourself now. And sometimes, you think that maybe, just maybe, he might like you back. Paul never failed to seize an opportunity to tell you that, of course. But you were too scared to make a fool of yourself. And, selfishly, you didn’t want to lose what you had with Fred. But now, things were progressing. 

Fred was going to be your first kiss.

And that would be hard to overcome. Especially when you already liked him so much. You were afraid that you would imprint on him like a duckling, never seeing anyone else in the same light. And then what would you do?

“y/n?” Fred asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you alright?” You hummed in response, eyes still unfocused. “Do you wanna do a trust exercise or something?”

“What?” You questioned, finally pulling yourself back to the moment.

“For tomorrow?” Fred explained, raising his eyebrows as he spoke. “To help you feel better about it?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding. This might be just what you need. It was so helpful with Fred that last time, and hopefully it could be for you as well. “You wanna do the eye contact one?”

“How about another one?” Fred asked, leaning back against the back of the couch.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Tell me a secret.”

“What?” You balked. “What kind of exercise is that?”

“A secret for a secret.” Fred shrugged. “How about I start?” You nodded, though apprehensively. “I’m nervous for tomorrow, too.”

“Are you really?” You raised a brow at him. “‘Cause if your secret’s just a lie to make me feel better, then you’re cheating.”

Fred giggled and shook his head. “No, I really am.”

“Why?” You tilted your head inquisitively at him.

“Nope, I already told you my secret.” He pursed his lips and shook his head again. “Now it’s your turn.”

You shifted uncomfortably, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, the script forgotten in your lap. Fred’s gentle, observant gaze had a way of making you feel bare in a way that wasn’t unsettling, but intimate—like he could read every thought you tried to hide.

“I guess it’s not just in front of the camera,” you admitted softly, fiddling with the corner of a page. The confession felt inevitable, like it had been lingering between the two of you for weeks, just waiting for a moment like this to surface. “I mean… I haven’t done this before. Any of it. Not just on screen.”

Fred's eyes softened as he sat up slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his focus entirely on you. “You mean you—you’ve never been kissed before?” His voice was quiet, not prying but careful, like he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

For a moment, Fred didn’t respond. He simply watched you, and you could feel the weight of his attention, not heavy or oppressive. His brows furrowed slightly as if he were choosing his next words carefully.

“That’s… okay, you know,” he said finally. There was no pity in his tone, only a steady reassurance. “I know how intimidating this can be, even for people who’ve done it before.”

“It’s just—” you sighed, leaning back into the couch, exasperated with yourself. “It’s not that I think I can’t do it. I know I can, or at least I hope I can. I just don’t want to look ridiculous. I want it to look real.”

Fred smiled faintly, his head tilting as he considered your words. “It’s admirable, you know?” You hummed in question at him. “The fact that you’re sacrificing your first kiss for the production.”

“It’s embarrassing is what it is.” You rolled your eyes with a snort. 

“What?” He gasped quietly, the air still feeling ever so delicate between the two of you. “You're giving it away for Sir Ridley Scott! He’d be honored if he knew, I think.”

“He’d be confused if he knew.” You corrected him. “An actress in her early twenties who hasn’t been kissed before. I think I could apply to the Guinness book of world records.”

“Hey, come on.” He shook his head at you sympathetically. “You’re not breaking any records, trust me. There’s no deadline for this kind of thing.” He shifted closer as he spoke, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in that familiar gesture you’d come to recognize as a sign of his sincerity, “But…I could help—only if you want.”

Your heart skipped. “Help?”

He nodded. “I mean… if it makes you feel more comfortable, we could—” he paused, exhaling as if second-guessing himself. “I could be your first kiss. Just to take some of the pressure off tomorrow. It’s not a big deal. Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

The room felt impossibly quiet, save for the distant hum of the trailer’s air conditioning. You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. It wasn’t just the offer that stunned you—it was the ease in Fred’s voice, the way he treated it like something simple. Just Fred, offering to help you in whatever way he could. It was so sweet. He was always so sweet to you. But you couldn’t. Not like this

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you inevitably shook your head. “That’s really sweet of you, Fred. But I think I want my first real kiss to be with someone who actually really likes me, not a pity kiss from my scene partner. Tomorrow doesn’t count if I don’t count it. It’s fine, really. I was just in my head about it—”

Fred laughed before he could stop himself, interrupting your rambling. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“What?” You asked dumbly, not expecting him to say something like that after your vulnerable confession.

“Why do you think I’m nervous about tomorrow?” He asked incredulously, another laugh escaping him. “It’s because I actually really like you, y/n!”

Oh.

It was like someone knocked the wind out of you. 

You had hoped that he liked you back, maybe even thought it might be a possibility in the back of your mind, but to hear him say those words out loud? You were speechless. It was like a dream come true. All those months of pining for him, all that yearning, was reciprocated this whole time. 

“y/n,” Fred murmured, his voice low, soothing. “Can I be your first real kiss? Please?” He parroted your words back to you once more, breathlessly. You felt the blood rush into your head.

You managed a weak nod, barely able to meet his gaze. He waited a beat, letting the moment settle before he leaned in, his hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His touch was featherlight, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheekbone. The intimacy of the gesture almost unraveled you.

Fred's lips brushed yours tentatively, the kiss soft and unhurried. His movements were gentle yet assured, he understood that this was new for you and he didn’t mind guiding you through it. His other hand found your waist, steadying you, and you felt yourself melting into him.

As the kiss deepened, Fred’s grip on your waist tightened subtly, anchoring you as he shifted. Without breaking contact, he eased you forward, guiding you into his lap until you straddled him, your knees on either side of his hips and your hands resting tentatively against his shoulders. His fingers flexed against your hips, drawing you closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Your lungs felt tight as Fred pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips and his hands lingered against your waist, sending butterflies crashing into each other in your stomach. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—long enough for the rapid beat of your heart to settle into something softer, steadier.

“Was that okay?” Fred asked softly, his voice just above a whisper.

You nodded before opening your eyes to meet his gaze. There was something tender in the way he looked at you, and it made the words on the tip of your tongue feel less terrifying.

“Can we… do it again?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and your stomach flipped as you realized how vulnerable you sounded.

Fred's lips quirked into a soft smile as his hand slid up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” he murmured, a soft laugh coloring his words as he brushed his nose against yours. “Yeah, we can do it again. As many times as you want.”

His lips found yours once more, and this time, there was no hesitation. Fred kissed you with more certainty, his hands firm as they traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer still. You could feel his quiet desire in the way he held you, the way his fingers flexed when you deepened the kiss.

You were glad that confession made its way out before you could stop it.

The next morning, you woke up with a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubbling beneath your skin. 

The day was finally here. 

The scene you’d been dreading—and quietly anticipating—was actually happening. But unlike the restless nights leading up to it, you felt more prepared. More steady.

You had filmed a few suggestive scenes with Fred before. As a syphilitic emperor, Caracalla had the propensity to be very comfortable and open in his desires. But you weren’t asked to be nude for any of those scenes, unlike this one. The complexity of not even speaking, yet being so exposed on screen was a little difficult to wrap your head around. 

This scene was supposed to depict you and Caracalla in the privacy of his lavish quarters when Joseph as Geta barges in and angrily informs his brother of Acacius and Lucilla's betrayal. You and Fred were to be undressed and only covered by sheets from the waist down. 

Clara, the intimacy coordinator, had explained that Fred would be leaned back in bed, propped up by a few pillows, while you sat in his lap. The scene would open with a close up shot of the two of you kissing gently, the camera slowly pulling back with you as you leaned back. Your lower bodies would be covered with various messy sheets, depicting the long night the characters had already had before the intrusion.

The scene was much more than physical, it was also meant to show the characters’ co-dependent nature. Even when his concubine was on him, he needed his hands to be on her, both showing his dominance and control over her as well as his reluctance to pull away.

Fred’s kiss lingered in the back of your mind like a warm ember, small but constant. While you still felt the nerves creep in when you thought about today’s shoot, there was a quiet confidence blooming alongside them.

When you arrived on set, you noticed immediately how different the atmosphere felt. The crew was smaller, the lighting dimmer—intentional choices to provide you with a layer of privacy. 

Clara was already on set, organizing the sheets and setting up the space. She glanced your way, smiling comfortingly, but she didn’t say anything. She knew of your apprehension and had been worried about you. But she noticed something new in you today. Maybe there was a shift in your energy or a slight lift in your posture, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she kept her observations to herself.

Fred was already there, standing near the bed where the scene would take place with Joseph. He smiled the second he saw you, that familiar softness in his expression grounding you more than anything else could.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice low and calm.

“Morning,” you replied, a shy tight lipped smile on your face as you stepped closer to him. Joseph greeted you but was quickly ushered away to his mark behind the door, not giving him enough time to notice the change between you and Fred. 

Clara approached you and spoke with her usual calm authority, a roll of skin-safe tape in hand. “Alright, let’s get these sheets secured,” she said, gesturing for you to adjust your robe.

But you stopped her with a small, assured smile. “I don’t think we’ll need the tape today.” Last night’s events forged a confidence deep within you. You knew your team had your back. You knew Fred had your back. 

Clara paused, blinking at you as if processing your words. Her sharp gaze flickered briefly to Fred, who stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed into his robe pockets. 

He tilted his head at your words, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “You sure?” His voice was low, warm with concern.

You nodded, holding his gaze. “Yeah, I feel more confident now.”

Clara smirked faintly, a flicker of understanding in her expression, but she didn’t press. Fred’s gesture was subtle but telling. “Alright, just let me know if anything changes.” She said with a sense of finality before stepping away to oversee the set. 

Fred watched her retreat, then turned back to you with a concerned glint in his eye. He brushed your arm lightly to grab your attention. “You really don’t want the tape?” Fred asked again, his tone tinged with genuine care.

“Yeah,” You nodded with determination. “I can do it.”

He studied you for a beat longer, as if making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard, then smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” 

“You helped.” You confessed in a whisper, a smile curling your lips upward.

“Yeah?” He asked in surprise, his grin only grew wider when you nodded in confirmation. “Glad I could be of service. We could sneak off and practice some more, if you’d like-”

“Fred!” You cut him off before he could say anymore, scandalised yet amused all the same. “You’re horrible!”

“And you’re cute, Lovie.” He smirked as an assistant pulled him away, cutting your conversation short. 

Another assistant pulled you forward as well, telling you to get into place so they could adjust the lighting based on your position. Fred smiled encouragingly at you from the bed he was laying in as you approached. An assistant helped you get into position, straddling Fred’s lap with your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. The position wasn’t unlike how you had found yourself last night in Fred’s trailer. With a quick glance into Fred’s eyes, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

The makeup artists fluttered around you, dabbing at your skin with soft brushes, unknowingly keeping the moment from becoming too intimate. The lighting crew adjusted their angles, the soft glow from overhead casting shadows that added depth to the space.

Fred’s hands found your waist instinctively, his thumbs brushing circles against the fabric of your robe. His touch was grounding, steady, and it calmed the last bit of tension lingering in your chest.

“You okay?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.

You met his gaze, but your eyes kept drifting lower, to his lips. The memory of yesterday was still present at the forefront of your mind, your pulse quickened at the thought of doing it again.

Fred noticed immediately, a small chuckle escaping him. “You’re adorable.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier.

“I’m just—” You flushed, embarrassed at being caught. You were unable to find the words to explain the giddy excitement stirring in you. “I guess I’m excited to start.”

Fred’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t push it, not wanting to tease you any further. “Good.” His grip on your waist tightened subtly, the weight of his hands calming you.

As the cameras rolled, Fred’s lips found yours, his kiss was steady and deliberate, his hands guiding you gently as your body pressed closer to his. You pulled away from him when you heard your cue, the camera nearest to you swooshing in the air as it moved backwards. Soon enough, you heard the loud bang of the bedroom doors bursting open. You startled in Fred’s lap, the reaction a mix of yours and Lovie’s. For a brief moment, you weren’t acting on a set. It was just the two of you before Joseph barged in. 

Fred cradled you against his chest, covering your exposed form from Geta, like the scene called for. You couldn’t hear what Joseph was saying over the loud heartbeat in your ears, but you knew what the script expected of you and when. Fred’s warm skin and chest hair brushed against your arms as you huddled close to him. It was intoxicating. 

After the first take, you gently pulled back and shifted Fred’s position. “Keep your hands here,” you instructed, placing his hands firmly on your hips in view of the camera. “To show that he’s in control.”

“Okay,” he nodded, always open to your ideas. “You should try leaning into me more,” he added, his hands guiding your hips to tilt forward. “It makes it look like he’s really keeping her there.”

You furrowed your brows as you digested his notes. “Alright. Should I put more weight into it?”

“Yeah, exactly.” He nodded in encouragement. “Don’t hold back, I’ve got you.”

The next take felt even more intense. Fred’s hands pressed into your waist with more dominance. And you fell into him, relinquishing control, matching the energy you’d both discussed.

Between takes, he was quick to adjust the sheets, shielding you with practiced ease. Each touch lingered longer than necessary, his fingers brushing against your bare skin beneath the fabric, and every time you glanced up at him, his eyes held the same quiet intensity and kindness.

Joseph and Clara shared looks after each run through, the two of them noticing the shift in dynamic between the two of you.

“They’re different today.” Joseph whispered to Clara. 

“They’re more in sync.” Clara tilted her head as she observed the two of you. “Almost like…”

“Almost like they’ve been practicing.” Joseph smirked.

“About damn time, if you ask me.” Clara huffed, though amused all the same.

-

All these months later, and the memory was still fresh in your mind. And apparently, in someone else’s as well. “y/n?” Joseph’s voice broke the quiet hum of the green room. You were standing at the tea station, carefully deliberating over how much sugar and milk to add to your cup when he approached, his tone unusually hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You didn’t look up, focused on swirling the tea in your cup. “As long as it’s not about my sugar-to-milk ratio, because I’ll have you know, it’s perfect.”

Joseph chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “No, it’s not that. It’s… uh…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You can totally tell me to fuck off and mind my own business if you don’t want to answer.”

“I gotta hear the question first, Joseph,” you replied with a playful smile, still not turning to face him. “But I promise I won’t be offended.”

He took a deep breath. “Was Fred your first kiss?”

Your hand froze mid-air over the sugar tin, the question catching you off guard. You finally glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just…” Joseph shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence replaced with something softer. “What you said back there—on stage—about cherishing the memory forever. It sounded a lot like you were talking about Fred.” He looked down at the tea he was fixing, his words careful, almost shy. “And honestly, it reminded me of that day on set.”

“What day?”

“When we filmed the scene in Caracalla’s bedroom.” His eyes flicked back to yours, searching for confirmation. “You and Fred were… different that day. There was this energy between you two, like something had changed. I thought maybe you’d finally, you know, come to your senses about each other, but what you said on stage—it made me wonder.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” You added a splash of milk to your tea. “We did come to our senses that day.”

Joseph’s eyebrows shot up, his curiosity piqued. “And… was he—you know…?”

You glanced at him, tilting your head in mock thought. “While I appreciate your sudden foray into investigative journalism,” you teased, “I think the answer to that question is classified.”

Before Joseph could reply, Paul’s voice cut through the moment. “Or…” he started, strolling toward you with an infuriating smirk. “The answer is a three-letter word.”

“Fuck off, Paul!” you shot back, your laughter bubbling up as you grabbed your cup of tea.

Joseph groaned, shaking his head at Paul. “You’re relentless.”

“And mean,” you added with a grin as you turned to head toward Fred, who had just entered the room and only caught the tail end of the conversation. He gave you an inquisitive look as he draped his arm over your shoulders.

“What are we cussing Paul out for this time?” Fred asked, his voice light and teasing. He leaned down, pretending to whisper conspiratorially, “What’d he do?”

“He’s mean,” you said with a giggle, your words laced with amusement. “Are you ready to leave?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, the car’s waiting out back.”

“You’re leaving already?” Paul’s mock-pout followed you as you grabbed your bag.

“We’re literally seeing you guys at dinner in, what, two hours?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“And tomorrow morning,” Fred added, steering you toward the door. “Hopefully you’ll survive without us until then.”

As you walked out, Joseph’s amused voice reached you. “For the record, I’m still rooting for that classified answer.”

Fred glanced down at you, his brow raised. “What’s he talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” you said, stifling a laugh. “They’re just being nosy.”

Fred didn’t push, his signature crooked grin tugging at his lips as he leaned closer, his voice warm against your ear. “Well, whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

As always, you thought, smiling softly to yourself.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Fred’s arm still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but glance up at him. The way he fit so effortlessly into your life—his steady presence, his quiet reassurances—made you wonder how you ever doubted his feelings for you. Looking back now, it seemed almost ridiculous. Every glance, every touch, every word had been there all along, waiting for you to notice.

“Ready?” he asked softly, opening the car door for you and offering you a hand.

You nodded, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at his antics. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

How could you not be, when everything he did made it so easy to fall for him?

[ovaryacted]

Literally what do you mean a grown ass (white woman) typed out some shitty mediocre excuse of an article for The Cut, listing some of the best fanfic for The Pitt WITH FUCKING AO3 LINKS TO PEOPLE’S ACCOUNTS? How on earth did we fucking get here when it comes to how we engage and view fanfic and fandom spaces?

Not only was that article just a disgrace, the way the author talked about fanfic writers as a whole as if they’re in the wrong for writing things on their free time, in addition to having microagressive and ableist commentary on said fics in dismissing Dr. Robby/Dr. Collins as the most popular ship in the fandom to then talking about writing Mel as a sexual being as if that’s not possible with neurodivergent individuals is really just so fucking disgusting…I don’t even have words to describe how I feel. Not to mention, this person also linked several Jamira/Mohabbit fics which have since been locked to only registered users, and even going as far as to mention a Dr. Abbot/Dr. Robby fic in the article feels like an egregious attempt at doxxing and shaming if I’m being honest.

Fanfic and fandom shouldn’t be mentioned in mainstream media under the guise of pop culture for the sake of clicks and attention. The reason why fandom & fanfic even exist is so people are able to engage with their favorite pieces of media in ways they can control and manage privately. It’s a safe space for people to build community with other like minded individuals and to share thoughts and joy about said media. There’s a found social contract when it comes to the general audience of things and fandom spaces, and mentioning fanfic in an online column as a journalist of all things breaks that trust and ruins the connection people have already built towards that particular type of media. It’s also a violation of privacy just mentioning and linking people’s fanfics in an article for the world to see when many don’t understand fandom culture and the authors didn’t consent to having their work publicized in that way. What gives you the right to do that if you hold no relationship with the authors directly?

Since the pandemic around 2020, the approach towards fandom spaces and fanfic as a whole has changed dramatically. People are more hostile and judgmental when it comes to what people write, how frequently they do and treat writers like content pumping machines because we’ve become so accustomed to fast paced consumerism. People lack boundaries between actors and the media they’re a part of or consume, they print out people’s fanfic works to “own” as if it’s their own; and now it’s progressed to people’s work being scrapped to train generative AI systems by the millions and journalists using their fanfic works to talk about the things people write, share, and engage with in their own free time for publicity or even money.

So many people are already being discouraged to write and share their writing in the first place, and with the way things are going, I won’t be surprised if people just flat out stop writing fanfic all together, or start sharing their writing as pdfs on encrypted messaging apps to people they trust. I don’t get what’s so hard about leaving fanfic writers and fandom communities alone, but if this isn’t a sign of the growing puritanical, conservative, and hyper surveillance nature in our culture, then I don’t know what else there is to say. I’m worried about the future of fanfic writing and creatives as a whole, I really am, and we are quickly running out of safe spaces to engage in fandom content overall. Frankly I don’t think we have any safe spaces left, and that’s terrifying.

[cellophanejpeg]

two is better than one | s. hanta ft. k. denki

s: What was supposed to be a night alone with Sero turns into something more once you see Kaminari is just as a freak as you are.

w: threesome, recreational drug use, smut, explicit smut, sex, smut smut smut

n: heyy, i have two more chapters left for these series, however i've reached a writer's block, so i'm not sure when they'll be posted lol. feedback is appreciated and i'll miss this story so much when it's done (i might be stalling a bit ngl). anyway, beta read by jemifiss as usual! | read on ao3

previous | next | start here

“Are you kidding me?” You whisper, stepping into Sero’s apartment.

“Sorry.” He takes the bags from your hands and closes the door behind you.

It’s been almost two months since you and Sero had some time for yourselves and tonight you thought you’d have a private moment in his apartment. However, upon entering his apartment, you notice Kaminari slouched over the living room couch. His face tells you he’s high out of his mind.

“He just showed up,” Sero explains, leading you to the kitchen.

“I thought we were gonna…” You trail off, hinting at the one thing you've been expecting all week.

“I know, sorry…” He's still smiling as he digs into the snacks you've brought.

“Are you–” you push his shoulder so he looks at you, “Are you high right now?”

Sero looks like a deer caught in headlights. His smile falters for a second, his eyebrows curl upwards, and he shrugs, getting caught.

“Guilty,” he says, giggling as if he was caught stealing from the cookie jar.

You groan, “Alright, you know what? I can come back another day–”

You're already walking out of the kitchen, ready to put your shoes back on and leave, when he runs after you, wrapping his big hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, no! We can watch a movie! Kaminari brought some brownies you used to like.” He pleads with a soft voice.

A sigh leaves your lips, shoulders sagging, “Hanta, you know I don’t do that anymore…”

When the war was over, you had to go back to school and pretend nothing had happened, which was proven to be the worst to happen. You used to have panic attacks, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t handle loud noises – one time, you even lashed out at Bakugou for yelling in class –, so Sero introduced you to edibles, as a last resort. It wasn’t until the school had started offering mandatory counseling sessions that you finally started to fall asleep without getting high.

“Okay, okay, so hang out with us?” Sero smiles at you, still gripping your shoulders tightly, “I miss just being with you… Not just fucking your brains out.” He chuckles under his breath.

You sigh again, closing your eyes.

“Fine. But if he eats all my snacks, I’m leaving.”

“Look who it is!” Kaminari exclaims when you enter the living room. You smile, plopping down on the couch beside him. Of all Sero’s friends, Kaminari is the one you’re closest to. You don’t talk to him on the regular, but you’re definitely more comfortable having a conversation with him than with anyone else in the friend group. Maybe it’s because he’s so close to Sero. Or maybe because he makes you laugh just the same. “You gotta tell me…” He slouches an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, “How big is it?”

“What are you talking about?” You frown, grabbing the remote to choose a movie for the three of you to watch.

“You know, Sero’s dick.”

You freeze, heart dropping to your stomach. Slowly, you turn your head to face Sero, on your left side. He’s drinking from a soda can when you start staring daggers at him.

“What?” he asks, noticing your furious eyes set at him.

“You told him?!” Your voice is louder than you intended, but it still makes Sero startle and Kaminari remove his arm from around your shoulders.

“I might have…” Sero brings his shoulders to his ears, slightly scared of you. He’s never seen you so angry like that before.

“Aw, c’mon, baby.” Kaminari chimes in, coming closer to your ear, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” You argue, trying to pull away from him, “I just never thought Hanta was the type to kiss and tell.”

Sero’s eyes widen as you stand up from the couch and face him. In a quick movement, he leaps from the couch and kneels before you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your lower belly.

“I’m sorry, angel!” He whines, “I was just so happy I couldn’t keep it to myself, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“What are you talking about?” You try to pry his arms open to be free of him, but his grip is too strong. You look down at his bloodshot eyes and something stirs inside you. Maybe it’s the way he kneels to you, the submissive look in his eyes, but you feel your face so hot that you have to look away.

“I’ll eat you out,” Sero quickly says, pushing your skirt up, trying to bunch up the fabric to have access to you, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Hanta!” You try to hold his hands, very aware that his friend is sitting on the couch, watching the scene. Your fingers desperately grip the hem of your skirt as your eyes shoot to Kaminari, who’s made himself comfortable by leaning back on the couch, sipping from his soda. He has a weird look on his face, like he isn’t shocked about Sero’s actions, “Wait– Kaminari is here–”

“He likes to watch,” Sero mumbles as he finally gets access to your underwear, pulling them down and pushing your skirt up.

“What–”

“And Sero’s always a horndog when he’s high,” Kaminari says.

Sero’s fingers slip in your folds, opening you up, his tongue following right after. You hold back a moan as realization falls on you.

“You’ve done it before?”

Kaminari breathes out a laugh, setting his drink on the coffee table and standing up. Sero pulls your underwear even further, a hand wrapping around your ankle so you lift it up, freeing one leg from the undergarment. He dives into you further, putting your free thigh on his shoulder. In a second, Kaminari is behind you, hands slipping under your shirt and tickling your waist.

“You mean have we fucked before?” He says in your ear, “Or have we shared someone? Because the answer is yes, either way.”

The thought of Sero and Kaminari – and probably someone else – in bed makes your breath hitch. You’re shocked to find out your childhood best friend is a horny bastard, but the idea turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s the way Sero’s tongue rubs deliciously against your clit as his fingers nudge your entrance.

“And you know what, angel?” Kaminari whispers, licking your earlobe, “I’m also a horndog when I’m high.”

His mouth latches at your neck, giving your skin open mouthed kisses, sucking and nibbling, and you can’t hold back anymore. Sero’s fingers finally press inside you, now that you’re wet enough, and you have to hold yourself on his shoulders for balance. If it wasn’t for Kaminari’s grip on you, you’d definitely have fallen over already.

“She likes that.” Sero mumbles against you, when you squeeze his fingers inside you, as Kaminari nibbles your ear, sending chills through your skin.

“Hanta…” Your hands tangle in his hair as you slightly grind on his face.

“Say the word, and we’ll stop.” Kaminari’s hands slip under your shirt further, until they reach your breasts. He grabs them with a light grip, massaging the muscles, until he finds your nipples and pinches them softly. A whine escapes your lips, your orgasm already building inside you.

A turn from your head and your lips press against Kaminari’s, kissing him fervently, the more you feel pleasure growing in your lower stomach. You squeeze your eyes shut as Sero’s fingers curl inside you, pressing on that spongy spot that makes you go crazy. A particular twist of your nipples, combined with a suck of your clit, have you coming undone, whining into Kaminari’s mouth. Your legs almost give out, but he holds you in place as Sero stands up and grabs your chin, pulling you away from his friend.

Sero kisses you roughly, hands pulling your shirt up to expose your breasts. His rough hands squeeze your breasts, harshly pinching your nipple and making you whimper. You notice he’s more dominant when he’s with Kaminari, who’s softer and gentler. Sero’s lips leave yours so he can kiss Kaminari, only pulling away so he can pull your shirt over your head, discarting it on the floor.

“Bed. Now.” He squeezes your cheeks before pulling you and Kaminari by the wrists towards his bedroom.

Kaminari undresses his shirt on the way to Sero’s room, unbuckling his belt as you reach the bed. Sero is already shirtless, pulling his sweatpants down, and rummaging his bedside drawer. He pulls a pack of condoms from it and rips one off, throwing it at Kaminari who laughs at his eagerness. Meanwhile, you try not to think about what is happening as you take your skirt off, finally baring yourself completely to the two men in the room.

Sero lies on the bed, back against the headboard as you crawl over to him. His cock sits hard against his lower abdomen when you wrap your delicate hands around it. You stroke him, licking the tip and going slow, like you know he likes. Kaminari positions himself behind you, fidgeting with the condom Sero tossed at him, and you twitch, anticipation pumping in your veins. He lifts your hips, having your ass up, runs his fingers through your folds.

“Fuck,” Kaminari whines as he pushes inside you. You’re so wet and open from your last orgasm that he slides in easily, as he refuses to give you time to adjust to his length.

A gasp leaves your lips as Sero’s hand flies to the back of your neck, the other cupping your cheek. You roll your eyes back as Kaminari sets on a punishing pace, much rougher than you’re used to. A squeeze of your cheeks makes you refocus your eyes on the man in front of you, who watches you intensely. If you weren’t being fucked out of your mind, you’d notice the moment of soberness in his eyes.

The way your body bounces back and forth with each thrust from Kaminari, the moans that leave your mouth, the trembling from pleasure of your hands as you stroke Sero – all these details give him a weird sensation in his chest. Is he having a panic attack? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened while he was high. But, no. This is unlike any other feeling he’s ever had. He’s always wanted to be with you in a carnal way, but this is something else.

He leans down to kiss you, soft lips a contrast to the rough pace of Kaminari, and then he pushes your head down, leading you towards his cock again. He doesn’t want to feel his heart thumping for no reason. So he makes you wrap your lips around him, pushing you further, until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Your fingers tighten their grip on Sero's thighs as you force your way out of his hold, gasping for air.

“Can't breathe!” You exclaim, wet lips and tears running down your face.

Kaminari’s thrusts falter, recognizing the look of worry in Sero's face as he cups your face again and brings you to a kiss.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Sero whispers, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your nose, “I'm sorry, angel.”

The softness in his voice would've had your stomach doing backflips, if it wasn't for Kaminari pounding his cock inside you. Prompted by a look of reassurance of his best friend, Denki resumed his rough pace, making you gasp again. Sero pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you, at the same time Kaminari does the same, fingers digging in your hips and pulling you roughly towards him. You all adjust the position, so your face is resting against Sero's chest, but your ass is still up for Kaminari. 

“Can't believe you were keeping this cunt all to yourself,” Kaminari groans, slapping your ass cheek roughly as he pushes his cock inside you again. You yelp, shutting your eyes with pleasure.

“You like it?” Sero mumbles to you, “You like when he's rough like that?”

You murmur a whine in response that he assumes is a yes. Sero cups your breasts gently, such a contrast to Kaminari's harsh  movements.

“Are you gonna come all over his cock, like the good girl you are?”

“Fuck, keep talking like that and I'm gonna come all over,” Kaminari grunts, slapping his hips on your ass.

“That's a good thing I'm not talking to you then,.” Sero barks back, and you'd laugh at their interactions if it wasn't for the fact you felt an overwhelming orgasm coming.

Then, Kaminari does something that has you almost breaking down. He presses his thumb on your back entrance, as if he's going to finger it. It's just a tease, but it's enough to make you see stars as you succumb to your pleasure, letting all out on him, on the sheets, everywhere.

“Whoa!” Kaminari laughs, “Why didn't you say you were a squirter, baby?!”

Because I'm not, you want to say, but you feel like you're going to pass out. You barely register him slowing down his thrusts and cursing as he comes, following right behind you. You just collapse on Sero's chest, trying to focus on his face. He's half soft now, and you feel bad because you don't think you can handle one more round.

“You didn't come,” you whisper as Kaminari leaves for a moment to fetch a towel so he can clean himself.

“I don't mind,” Sero whispers back.

“But–” you try to wrap your hands around him again, but he just holds it, lacing your fingers together.

“It's okay, angel.”

Before you can argue further, Kaminari is back with a fluffy towel and, soon enough, he's wiping your legs, drying as much as he can.

“Bath?” Sero asks, rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

“Yes, please.”

“Your wish is my command.” He kisses your forehead, hopping off the bed and going toward the bathroom.

Kaminari scoffs as he lays on his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sighing heavily.

“What?” You ask, pulling the sheets up to cover your chest. Not that it would do anything to hide your body from him now that he's seen everything. You're trying not to think about how you're going to face him in the next group hang out, when he answers your question,

“He must really like you. Sero's never satisfied until he's finished,” Kaminari laughs again, “And running you a bath? I mean, he gives aftercare, but he's not exactly the king of it, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion is clear in your voice as you lean on your elbow to face him better.

“All I'm saying is that, every time we've been together, he's never acted like that.” He explains, “Maybe he's got a soft spot for you…”

You try not to hold on to the hope he might have the same feelings as you, but it's stronger than you. The way he's been so soft to you during this entire night has the butterflies inside your stomach going crazy. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility of you and him staying together.

“What are you guys talking shit about?” Sero resurfaces from the bathroom, still naked, leaning on the doorframe. You hold back a dreamy sigh.

“You,” Kaminari replies, a shit eating grin on his face.

Sero groans, rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Anyway.” Kaminari jumps out of the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Same time next week?”

Sero groans even louder as you bark out a laugh.

@lousypotatoes @shoyosdoll @fresa-luna @crazyvalerie1236 @siillkie

[stevn-rgers]

911 FANDOM — AO3 writers pls read:

Without any spoilerrs, those who are caught up.. you know what this is about. PLEASE. Please tag your fics correctly.

If they’re canon compliant PLEASE include that in your descriptions, and use the appropriate trigger warnings. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I will not go into detail on that to avoid anyone bitching at me for saying too much but these specifically NEED to used, always.

I’ve seen authors before specifically not use these for the ‘surprise’ factor..

it’s NOT okay to do.

You don’t know what people are dealing with, what they feel they can mentally handle, etc. so just please be a good person and put others mental health and happiness before your fic’s views.

I know this might sound dramatic to some but it might not be to others. For example (TW so I’m putting it in small) I had to have my ovaries removed in an emergency surgery at 21 due to tumors & not a week later a fanfic had a misc******* that ended in unaliving them both. No warnings applied. I cried for an hour.

I know there’s gonna be some miracle worker fix-it writers, but there’s also people who don’t do that, which is 100% okay and totally up to you! Write what you want and what you feel. But it’s also okay for people to not want that, so please. PLEASE. Use warnings.

This goes for all fandoms, all content and all writers ofc (im just a very frequent tenant in the 911 fandom AO3 and this last episode fucked me up so I’m gonna live on the happy side right now.)

Be considerate. The world is an absolute dumpster fire from hell & some people want to escape that kind of thing. Angst with a happy ending is my preferred living area — aaand yep, that’s all I have to say. Thank you, I love you and happy birthday.

[ilium-ilia]

I don’t know man, I figured I would ask you personally about this because I’ve gotten two asks now that were quite rude about it, saying I shouldn’t “copy” fics or steal your prompts. But I made a post saying that I had a horrible dark fic idea inspired by your “hole in the earth” fic. I didn’t go into much detail about it in the post but in the tags all I said was that I was thinking about a sort of aftermath situation of it, if John died and the Reader character went insane, trigger warning for child death in the idea I was having. Basically in no way actually copying your fic, just inspired by your work. The lobotomy, if I were to even actually write it, probably wouldn’t even be mentioned and more focus on Stockholme syndrome and kidnapping. Sorry this is long but I’m just kinda annoyed by the anons I’m getting, does this bother you? Seem too close to your work for comfort? Would you call it “copying”? - @cobwebs-in-autumn

Okay, well I didn't want to make this public, and you blocked me, and I'm tired of people walking all over me when it comes to stealing my work, I'm going to explain the situation here and set boundaries right now. Again. Because I'm so sick and fucking tired of dealing with this.

First off, I would like to say don't harass this person. Don't send anon messages, or hate, or comment on their posts, or anything. I'm only bringing this out because you guys need to learn to respect writers. I've deleted two accounts because of shit like this and I'm NOT letting it get to me a third time.

Anyway, so I get sent this anon message. The fic they're referring to is one that isn't posted on tumblr, but is here on AO3. It's a very dark fic, basically where Price kidnaps a wife, and when she doesn't act the way he wants her to, he has her lobotomized so that she's more "docile." It's a horror fic. This person then decided that they wanted to write a continuation of the fic, therefore stealing my idea without my permission. (no matter how much they want to claim they were only inspired, a continuation without permission is still stealing!!)

Now, many of you had kindly pointed out to this person that the idea was very similar to mine. And they very much admitted in this anon ask that it was an aftermath situation of MY fic. But this seemed to annoy them.

"I’m just kinda annoyed by the anons I’m getting"

(you know what else is annoying? people copying or "finishing" your works without permission!!)

So, I then went to this person in dm's to tell them, yeah no, I'm not cool with this at all.

because frankly, why the fuck would i be cool with that lmao. I was pretty short with my messages, but I was being firm. Like I've done this shit before, I'm not doing it again.

They do not respond to the message, and instead, ignore me and reblog their post with this.

Which is fucking amazing actually. So insanely disrespectful that I couldn't help but laugh because how do you see someone saying "Hey, this makes me uncomfortable and you're stealing my idea" and you go and post that? "I feel this is far enough" But you're not going to talk it out to the writer you claim to respect so much?

Anyway so I point this out in the dms because that's just insanely disrespectful.

And I also commented because I was getting anxious that people were going to start pushing them to write the idea that was pretty much mine lmao.

Eventually they responded with this:

Which is also just fucking insane. Basically gaslighting me saying "oh I'll just write something similar but not" (Not to mention the fact their new idea sounds like early's fic anyway lol) But no apology, just fucking clout chasing using my name and idea, for whatever reason. So I sent them a rather rambling response about how that this still isn't okay, I still never received an apology from them, or anything of the like.

And I'm sure you guys saw some of my posts because I was upset. (the misgendering and the incorrectly correcting my name, and saying how i'm not at all okay with people using my works as inspiration). This has happened to me so so so often (and many other writers!) and I'm sick of it. It's annoying. This person has written so many other works and ideas that were their own and that's what I love about fandom- but this? Yeah.

So I waited for a response from them. Clicked on our messages and oh?

Everything's gone. weird. maybe send another message.

oh!

maybe it's tumblr. logged out. logged back in. no history with them in my dm's period. (mind, I can still message everyone else just fine!)

So yeah. This is bullshit, and I'm sick of it. Private conversations do not help. I'm tired of trying to protect people who are wronging me for the sake of their feelings when they so obviously trample and disregard mine. Especially with these answers to your asks here:

This is so frustrating.

Writing continuations of someone's work is never okay. Writing ideas based off of their work without asking them is never okay. And to block me when I point out my discomfort just because you're (assumingely) upset i didn't take your side? And STILL keeping the post up? (at least at the time I'm posting this) Yeah, sorry, I'm tired of letting this shit slide and keeping this quiet. I tried to reach out in DM's to resolve it quietly and that didn't work.

Respect your writers. This is a community. Ask people. If you like my idea so much, then maybe comment or tell me in my asks instead of ripping me off. I'm literally always so happy to talk about my ideas and "what if's" and I'm sure many other writers are too! We literally scream it from the rooftops!

But no, you'd rather steal my shit for clout instead.

again: do not fucking dogpile on this person. just block and move on. unfortunately this isn't their main account, so they're gonna be able to see my shit no matter what I do, but oh well. maybe at least we can all learn that this is not cool at all.

anons are off for now, and any stupid asks will just be blocked/deleted.

[defectivevillain]

starward

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

the reader is referred to with he/him pronouns. otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary:

…With me today is the writer and director of the series that has taken the world by storm, By Proxy. Thank you for joining me. “Thank you for having me,” you respond easily. This was the first collaboration between you and Hannibal Lecter, who plays the main character in the film. How did you navigate that process? 

The development of your relationship with Hannibal, through the eyes of your fans. (social media au)

word count: 5.4k | ao3 version

notes: This fic takes place in an alternate universe where you’re the writer and director of your hit television series, By Proxy. Hannibal is an actor who takes on the role of the deuteragonist, Soren. When you two meet, sparks fly.

This fic is a modern social media fic, where the narrative is mainly told through IG/Twitter/YouTube posts. There are some bits of regular dialogue though, don’t worry 😏

There's *a lot* of formatting (bold and italic) in this one, so I've provided a formatting-free version on AO3. It's the same thing, minus the bold and italic.

YouTube Video

Sitting down with the director & main actor of By Proxy

Comments: 

hlecterstan: is it just me or is hannibal being unusually friendly?

→ lecterure: mf is never this talkative.

→ hlecterstan: it’s kinda hard to tell

→ gnstreakss: are u fckn kidding he practically has hearts in his eyes

→ xxdesertxx:… i mean, i would too

→ gnstreakss: REAL 

hamburgerlecter: i simply wouldn’t be able to breathe with hannibal lecter looking at me like that

→ user359046784: same…. the director seemed entirely unbothered tho

→ sportslad34: or he just didn’t notice LOL

user210389834: it seems like hannibal rly respects him 

→ hamiltonburglar: ah, right. it’s not gay, it’s a respect thing. 

→ user210389834: exactly

→ hamiltonburglar: goodbyeeee 💀💀💀

______

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A picture of the two of you on set. Hannibal has blood splattered across his skin and he’s wearing a rumpled outfit, but he’s smiling as you give him instructions.]

Comments: 

useruseruser3: daddy? sorry, i mean… daddy. wait, no. daddy?

→ chronicallyshit: you need to log off 

→ useruseruser3: never 😏

→ bananananana: touch grass pls

→ useruseruser3: i did and it didn’t work

hanlecnibal: this mf never posts on here wtf is happening

→ frogg13frog: right it’s gay as hell 

→ jxsngrac3: y’all do realize he has a social media team, right??? no way in hell did he post this of his own volition 

→ hanlecnibal: nah but he took the pic and clearly wanted to post it, which is even more sus 

→ for3v3rn3v3r: are we still saying sus? 🤔

→ hanlecnibal: i’m late to internet lingo shut up 

→ for3v3rn3v3r: bahaha fair 

user3028593 hey soren 😏

→ pikapikachuuuuu: he isn’t the character in real life, come on now 😭😭 

→ user3028593: shut up i can pretend 😭

______

YouTube Video

Behind the Scenes of By Proxy

[A few minutes of behind the scenes footage of the filming process, interspersed by conversations with a few of the main actors. A few shots show you directing Hannibal on where and how to move, while he listens attentively.]

Comments: 

rubynsapphic: this mf’s never beating the gay allegations… 

→ emerqlds: me

→ gaypicnicbasket: my friends  me

dundundunnnnn: *sighs* *saves* *rotates in mind like a gas station hot dog*

→ thimbo: gas station hot dog?

→ dundundunnnnn: and what of it? 

→ thimbo: nvm, carry on ig

______

YouTube Video

Interview with the Director of the Hit Series, By Proxy 

…Joining me today is the writer and director of the series that has taken the world by storm, By Proxy. Thank you for joining me today. 

“Thanks for having me,” you respond easily. 

This was the first collaboration between you and Hannibal Lecter, who plays one of the main characters in the film. How did you navigate that process? 

“Hannibal is every director’s dream,” you respond with a laugh. “He’s creative and clever, while also willing to take criticism. Very detail-oriented and easy to work with.”

How’d the casting process go?

“I can’t pretend I wrote the role for him, because I didn’t,” you admit. “The first few rounds of casting are handled by the agent I work with. She deserves the credit, really.” 

“I sit in on the final auditions, though. It’s always a really rewarding experience to see artists honing their craft. And directing is never a one-time thing, of course. We’re always thinking about future projects, so it’s nice to be able to scope out the talent.” 

You must’ve seen Hannibal’s final audition, then.

“Yes, I did,” you answer. 

What set him apart?

“He had a very firm grasp of Soren and his motivations,” you recall. “That kind of effort and analysis definitely set him apart—doing supplementary research on the character is something of a lost art these days.”

You stop to think for a moment. “Hannibal is also able to imbue meaning into even the smallest gestures and movements, which convinced me he was perfect for the role.” 

Any upcoming projects you’re excited about?

“Ah, I don’t think I can answer that,” you say with a helpless expression. “But I will say that I’ve been having a lot of fun, and I’m excited to explore genres I may not have been familiar with in the past.”

Sounds like we’ll be seeing more of your work in the future! Well, thank you very much for your time. 

“Thank you,” you respond with a smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

______

YouTube Video

Interview with Hannibal Lecter, who plays the enigmatic Soren on By Proxy 

…Introducing actor Hannibal Lecter, who plays the role of fan-favorite Soren in the new series, By Proxy. Welcome, and thank you for joining us.  

“Thank you for having me,” Hannibal responds amicably. 

I spoke with the director of By Proxy mere moments ago, and he had a lot to say about you. 

“Nothing too unflattering, I hope,” Hannibal smiles. 

No, it was all very flattering. I’m curious to hear your side of the story, though. Why did you decide to audition for the role and how did the process go?

“I heard about the role through my agent, of course,” Hannibal recounts. “I was immediately interested, as the character seemed very complex and compelling.” 

The director admitted he didn’t write the role with anyone specific in mind. 

“That’s one of the many things I admire about him,” Hannibal admits. “He’s a breath of fresh air in this industry.”

So, how did you convince him to cast you for the role of Soren?

Hannibal chuckles. “I’ll be perfectly honest: after the first few rounds of auditions, I was convinced I would be dropped. I was very surprised, then, to receive an invite to the final audition. And the director was observing, of course.”

“He didn’t reveal any of his feelings. He had a blank expression on his face the entire time and, I have to admit, I thought he disliked me. When I received a call a few days later, I was very surprised. 

When we met for the first time, he almost seemed like a different person. Enthusiastic and driven. It was immensely clear that he cared about the story and the different arcs of the characters.”

That’s funny. He said he was impressed with your audition. 

Hannibal raises a brow. “He must have a very good grasp on his emotions, then,” he says with a smile. 

What sets him apart from the directors you’ve worked with in the past?

“He’s a marvelous director,” Hannibal responds. “Very talented, of course. But there’s a sense of authenticity to him—one that’s hard to find elsewhere. He’s remarkably flexible when it comes to trusting the actors’ unique interpretations of their characters, which can be rare. He’s also upfront about his expectations—he’s good at verbalizing how he wants each scene to take place, how he wants the narrative to unfold. Every moment felt intentional.”

A strange expression passes over Hannibal’s face. It almost looks like nostalgia. “I’m going to miss working with him.” 

I’m sure there are many projects coming up for him. 

Hannibal nods in agreement. “I’d be honored to work with him again.” 

Maybe another season is in the works. 

“I would be pleasantly surprised,” Hannibal responds smoothly, a hint of that smile from before working its way onto his face. 

Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Hannibal. I’m sure the fans will be eagerly awaiting your next appearance. 

Comments: 

nevereverrr: starting a petition for By Proxy season two as we speak

→ pandadada: hell ya

→ ahslngi: ah yes… a petition… bc that will definitely work… 

→ sportsgirl179: shhh, let a girl dream

gayraccoon: i wish gay people were real

→ trashpanda23: they are. see? *points to this video*

→ gayraccoon: ur so right

______

Twitter Post

celebnews101

Here are the Emmy Nominations for Outstanding Actor: 

Frederick Chilton in Amidst Your Lies Bedelia de Maurier in Glimmer  Hannibal Lecter in By Proxy Margot Verger in Enchanted Night

Replies: 

hanlecnibal: screaming crying shaking throwing up shitting and pissing

→ uhwhuhhhh: were the last two really necessary

→ hanlecnibal: yes.

pandada: oh FUCK yeah

whateverig: everyone, go do your civic duty and vote. 

→ imeanhannibal: …for the emmy’s? or for government positions?

→ whateverig: both 💪

______

Twitter Post

emmys 

The dynamic actor-director duo of By Proxy has arrived! 

[redcarpet.jpg: A photo of Hannibal and you on the red carpet.]

wigsssnatched: if hannibal doesn’t win i’m breaking my kneecaps

→ 7853yui26: LOL

→ hsbfjfb: good night streaks 

xxhanbalxx: they would be such a power couple 

→ channibal: truer words have never been spoken

roadhouse: SOMEONE LIP READ THIS RIGHT NOW

→ brookereadsminds: I GOTCHU 

Director: “Hannibal. Good to see you.” Hannibal: “And you. You look wonderful.”  Director: “Thanks. You too.”

→ tralalalah: well damn that was boring

→ brookereadsminds: hannibal covered his mouth with his hand after that, lol 

→ oliviarodrigogogo: he knew u were coming bahahha

______

Twitter Post

emmys

Congratulations to Hannibal Lecter for winning the Emmy Award for Outstanding Actor in a Drama Series!

[acceptancespeech.mp4: Hannibal is announced as the winner of the category. He blinks and stands up; he stares at you for a moment, before pulling you into a hug. Then he heads up to the stage and accepts the award, making sure to mention you and his gratitude for your hard work and dedication.]

Comments: 

lectoure: HELL YES

asgkdgl: amen

doyathinkso: finally lord

rotundah: i can’t believe he spent 75% of his speech waxing poetic about the director

→ carnivalhannibal: i can

→ isawgaysoisaidgay: i can too

→ rotundah: OK I GET IT i don’t need 1k comments saying you understand HELPMEH

→ carnivalhannibal: suffer.

______

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A picture of Hannibal and you from the red carpet, holding the Emmy between you. The caption reads: “Thank you.”]

Comments: 

aaahhhhhhh: wait, the director won too?

→ usernamename: nah, hannibal just wanted to share the spotlight cause he’s nice lol

→ aaahhhhhhh: aaahhhhhhh.

hanlecnibal: YOU DID IT KING CONGRATS

→ thornedpath: why am i so proud,,, like i shed a few tears

→ hanlecnibal: ME TOO 😭

gruffruffruff: do i have to be the one to say it

rawrxdrawr: can we stop speculating about their relationship pls? they’re real people, y’all… 

→ yomama: yo mama’s real too, i saw her last night

→ rawrxdrawr: dad? 

→ yomama: ayyy that was too quick 😭

______

You’re thrilled to accept a contract for the filming of season two of your series, By Proxy. You want to keep the same actors you worked with before, which means you have to make a few house calls. First on the list is Hannibal Lecter, the actor who plays Soren. He’s one of the most vital components to the show. 

“Hannibal,” you greet the actor as he answers your phone call. 

“Hello,” Hannibal says amicably. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You decide to cut right to the chase. “By Proxy has been renewed for two more seasons,” you answer, unable to hide your excitement. 

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “That’s excellent news. Congratulations.” His voice sounds a bit clipped, although it’s nearly impossible to tell with him. Hannibal has always been scarily good at controlling his emotions. 

You slowly begin to realize what he’s thinking. “I was hoping you’d continue playing the role of Soren,” you say, hoping to dispel some of his assumptions. It sounds like he didn’t expect you to invite him back. 

You can almost see the slight pull to his lips. “I would be honored,” Hannibal responds smoothly. 

“Great!” you smile. “See you soon, then.”

______

Later…

Instagram Post

byproxyseries

[A photo of Hannibal and another actor, turned towards you and listening carefully as you lecture them. The caption reads: “Guess who’s back” with a devil emoticon.]

Comments: 

janesmiterskb: back again

→ tonythetigre: shady’s back 

→ janesmiterskb: tell a friend :>

sorenislovelife: sorennnn my beloved 

→ livelaughlovelecter: i’ve been waiting my whole life (two years) for this moment

sandwitches: my mom? 

→ byproxyseries: 😮

→ trollolol: she’s still lookin for that milk huh

→ pikapikachuuuuu: OOOOP

lecterhannibal: 🩸

→ afkalways: is that the blood emoji??? i’m not emotionally stable enough for this

→ user3028593: soren is my emotional support character i will cry if he dies

→ usernamename: let’s not manifest that

→ user3028593: … u right

______

Instagram Post

byproxyseries

[A video of you, Hannibal, and Alana Bloom speaking to an interviewer regarding the second season of By Proxy.]

Comments: 

judahahas: WAIT WAIT WAIT 

→ rawrararar: we’re waiting ??

→ judahahas: ok i’m back, i had to run laps rq. GRAHHHHH

→ rawrararar: u still haven’t explained 😭

→ judahahas: there’s nthng to explain, look at the gays

→ rawrararar: lolllll fair

threetwoone: hannibal looks jealous omg

→ afkalways: thank god it’s not just me

→ lollipopops: time stamp?

→  threetwoone: 1:31

→ lollipopops: i was so ready to argue… but ur right

→  threetwoone: tHANK YOU

huhwhathuh: ok i didn’t believe y’all at first…

→  xxxtrixiexxx: and now?

→  huhwhathuh: now i’m a believer

→  xxxtrixiexxx: what changed your mind? 

→  huhwhathuh: the look on hannibal’s face at 1:33… like he’s contemplating murder

→  huhwhathuh: and then his smile at 2:29 when the director jokes

→  xxxtrixiexxx: that’s fair… welcome to the dark side 😈

alanananana: praying for alana after that glare… 

→ trashpanda23: idek her but i’m scared for her

→ labasuramejor: pls she’s just fine,,, pretty sure her and margot verger are a thing anyways

→ trashpanda23: oh shit rly??? werk 

______

Twitter Post

elephantoutsidetheroom

y’all that entertainment outlet just released a part of the interview they cut and holy SHITTTTTTT

[interviewcut.mp4: A short clip taken from the same interview featuring Alana, Hannibal, and you. The reporter has steered the conversation towards discussions of  romance and the actors’ personal lives. You remain quiet for a while. 

“And you?” The interviewer turns to you, the only person who hasn’t acknowledged the question yet. “Perhaps there’s a special relationship you’d like to share?”

“Not particularly,” you respond. And even if there were someone, you wouldn’t tell the press anything. You think you’re entitled to at least some privacy. 

“You’re quite sure?” the interview pushes. They seem moments away from badgering you, before someone else cuts through the tense silence. 

“I believe he said so, yes,” Hannibal interjects smoothly. The interviewer blinks and freezes for a second before apologizing. The clip ends.]

channibalism: shoutout to the intern who got fired for sharing this. ily, whoever you are.

→ conangris: i’m in awe

→ ruhrohshaggy: the way journalists just assume they have the right to pry into people’s personal lives like that… 

→ t_rex_rawr: i wouldn’t say all journalists are like this. but some are, yeah. 

chumbuckets: stg i heard hannibal’s jaw crack from how hard he was clenching it 

→ krustykrabby: right, like the mere thought of the director dating someone bothered him that much 😭😭

→ chumbuckets: omg our usernames… does this mean we’re best friends now

→ krustykrabby: yeah i think it does

______

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A picture of you sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant, reading over the menu with a concentrated expression on your face. The caption reads “In good company.”]

myaxeismybuddy: alr let’s go lesbians. what is the name of this restaurant and where is it

→ brewieiscanon: i doubt this photo was taken today, LOL

→ myaxeismybuddy: a guy can hope

→ bitesyoubitesyou: Leidsekruisstraat 21, 1017 RE Amsterdam, Netherlands

→ myaxeismybuddy: holy shit, i didn’t think anyone could actually do it

→ brewieiscanon: bitesyoubitesyou the fbi is afraid of you

cannibalcouture: i swear to EVERYTHING they’re dating

→ lecterlecture: they have to be. i won’t accept anything less. 

______

Twitter Post

celebsightings

The director of By Proxy was spotted walking the streets of Amsterdam with lead actor Hannibal Lecter. 

userahrahrah: HE’S WALKING ON THE SIDE CLOSER TO THE STREET

→ xxhanbalxx: wuh?

→ channibal: ppl will often let someone important to them walk on the side away from the street while they walk nearer to the street. idk it’s something about traffic and keeping them safe??? i’m not a mathematician 

→ xxhanbalxx: oh shit that’s tea

→ xxhanbalxx: ikr

→ userahrahrah: mathmatician??

→ channibal: i’m not a meteorologist but i’m pretty sure it’s raining gay people

mothafawkers: these mfs are doing this on purpose, at this point

→ wigssnatched: right??? they’re probably enjoying all the panic they’re creating 😭

lecterlurks: I’m gonna say something crazy and y’all are just gonna have to trust me……I mayhaps have met the two of them 

→ no1fannibal: no fucking way

→ lecterlurks: yES FUCKING WAY!!!! they were so sweet & nice!!!!

→ no1fannibal: what’d they say? how’d they look? what did hannibal smell like— i mean

→ lecterlurks: LOLLL i can’t speak to smell… but they both looked pretty relaxed! Hannibal had a smile on his face for a lot of the time, which was interesting 🤔 

→ lecterlurks: in terms of what they said, we had a quick convo about the upcoming season of By Proxy! I didn’t want to keep them for too long, so it was very fast. I didn’t get pics or anything, so no one’s gonna believe me 😭 oh well

→ no1fannibal: i believe u!!!!!! that’s so awesome, i’m jealous hahah

______

Youtube Video

Press Interview for By Proxy Season 2

wisforwumbo: hannibal was about to murder a bitch 

→ cranehusbands: the director looks so uncomfortable 😭 not that i blame him, i’d be freaking out

→ despicableyou: how?

→ cranehusbands: his breathing picks up at 2:30 and his eyes keep flitting around at 2:37 like he wants to leave

→ fruityloopy: wdym how 😭😭 the interviewer straight up harassed him for details on his personal life

mindyabeeswax: not the dude pretty much asking the director his sexuality 🤦‍♂️ dawggg 

→ fruityloopy: so weird… like why are you asking? are you interested or smthg? 

→ sirifuckoff: exactlyyy 

fruityloopy: i’ve always thought this interviewer was weird 

-> whatev333r: THANK YOU i thought it was just me

→ kissingkills: fr they always gave the weirdest vibes

thatswhatgayis: thank GAWD hannibal set them straight 

→ funnybonez: hannibal’s glance over at the director (2:48)… i’m sobbing 

→ justkeepgroveling: thank you for the time stamp bitch 

→ funnybonez: and then the third glance at 2:54 😭 he knew smthg was coming 

greatcoolwahhh: the way this has happened before… What’s with these journalists asking about romance and, more specifically, the director’s relationship status???

→ eyedressing: the romance part probably isn’t new—gossip sells. but it’s weird they’re fixating on the director specifically.

→ youdonutsay: the director’s getting more popular & i think he has some pretty big projects coming up. maybe they’re trying to get a head start on a piece with him. (not that i approve of their methods)

→ haiiiyahhhh: they’re always getting the shitty journalists, wtf

______

Twitter Post

useruserresu

hannibal’s cold as ice 🥶

[interview.mp4]: A clip of the interview with Hannibal and you, when you’re asked an invasive question about your relationship status. You stiffen; Hannibal, noticing this, turns to the interviewer and says tersely, “I believe you’re meant to ask us about the second season of the series.”

parispaloloma: we all need a friend like hannibal

→ theloneliestlives: yeah… ha… friend…. 

→ sportsgirl179: i feel for the director 😭😭 i would’ve frozen too

→ sirchloeisagod: right??? so uncomfortable… 

______

Twitter Post 

userara

when you have to pretend to get along with someone you hate. 

[interview.gif: A GIF of Hannibal shaking the interviewer’s hand with a placating smile. The moment Hannibal turns his back, the smile slips right off his face.]

______

Instagram Post

byproxydirector (Verified Account)

[A selfie you’ve taken with a friend. The caption is a peace sign emoji next to a black heart emoji.]

Comments:

hannibal_loves_meh: cuteeee

→ mrunobars: you realize hannibal loves this guy and not you, right?

→ hannibal_loves_meh: dawg why do you think i’m here

→ mrunobars: bahaha fair enough

lordsimpington: marry me fr dude

→ plsmorepizza: really living up to ur username there bud

→ lordsimpington: thanks. i’m trying to live more authentically. 

→ plsmorepizza: …i mean, werk.

lecterhannibal: Who. is that?

→ surebitch: i really thought this was a fan account for a second

→ delecterable: byeeeee

→ ilikeberries: hannibal babe ur jealousy is showing 

→ sobanoodlez: i’m so done atp

→ sameshapebitch: literally, like he can defend himself bc i’m tired of this grandpa

→ guillermostan: ^that’s too damn bad! (/ref)

______

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A photo of a black cat.]

Comments: 

byproxydirector: Who. is that?

→ matriarchy: PLSSS

→ jadedshadows: byeeeee

→ useraboveme: is this a reference

→ lol_ok_sure: useraboveme yeah, hannibal commented this on the director’s last post. 

→ useraboveme: LOLLLL

______

Twitter Trending Page

Trending Hashtag: #ByProxy2

Related Tags: #ByProxyFinale, #SorenComeHome

byproxy

The final episode of season 2 is officially available on all streaming platforms! #ByProxy2 #ByProxyFinale

thrasherings

emotional damage. #ByProxyFinale

grrrrahahah

i’ll never feel happy ever again. #ByProxy2 #ByProxyFinale

sorenmybaby

I need to give Soren the biggest hug. I don’t care that he probably won’t want it. I need it, at this point. #ByProxy2 #ByProxyFinale #SorenComeHome

______

Twitter Post

byproxyseries

Exciting news! By Proxy has been featured in two Emmy award nominations: Outstanding Drama Series; and the director’s candidacy for Outstanding Directing for a Drama Series. 

Comments: 

waffffflessss: i don’t believe in voting but i voted 

aceistheplace: everyone hide your kids hide your wife, BY PROXY IS LIFE!!!!

chrysanthemum: making six alt accounts to vote on as we speak

ahhhaahahahahh: deserved and based 

______

Twitter Post

emmys

It’s that time of the year! Tune in at 6:00 EST (22:00 UTC).

______

byproxyseries

By Proxy wins the Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series!

[acceptancespeech.mp4]

Comments: 

→ thrasherings: much deserved

→cannibalcouture: ^^^

→humbuglecter: emmy’s being correct??? for once??? 

→ trashytrash: don’t get used to it lol

→ humbuglecter: lmao ur right. but also i hope the director wins too 😭

______

“And the Emmy for Outstanding Directing for a Drama Series goes to…….”

Wait. They just said your name. The cameraman nearby is pointing the camera at you, putting your surprised face on the big screen. You’re staring ahead with wide eyes, unable to believe what’s happening. You could’ve sat there frozen for several more minutes, but you somehow force yourself to get up. A few of your actors reach out to clap you on the shoulder or hug you. You turn to Hannibal, who has gotten up with you, and embrace him. 

At that moment, time seems to freeze. Everything fades to the background, as Hannibal pulls you close and congratulates you. Somehow, his words of encouragement and praise are what motivate you to keep going—to eventually break away and ascend the stairs to take the stage. You give a quick hug to the emcee, who passes off the Emmy to you. 

You swallow hard and step up to the glass podium, placing the Emmy down for a moment. “Um,” you say awkwardly, “thanks.” You let your eyes sweep over the crowd for a moment and your gaze lands on Hannibal unwittingly.  

The words are spilling from your lips before you can stop them. Ah well. So long, dignity. Farewell, respect from your peers. “I didn’t prepare anything for this,” you admit. “Honestly, this award is… well. It’s both meaningful and entirely meaningless.”

There’s a tense silence at that remark. You find your gaze flitting to Hannibal, who has an amused glimmer in his eyes. Somehow, seeing him motivates you to continue. “I just mean… It’s such an honor to be here among so many talented writers and directors. And it’s virtually impossible to pick one person over the others.” 

“So I’m going to switch it up a bit,” you declare. “Instead of going on about my dreams and my family and all that… I’m going to spotlight the other creators in this category.”

And that’s exactly what you do. You take a few moments to highlight the other directors and your favorite parts of their shows. You don’t want to take up too much time, and you know the longer you stand up here, the more you’ll make a fool of yourself. Might as well quit while you’re ahead. 

“Anyways… thanks?” you say weakly, just wanting this experience to be over. You’re holding the award on the podium in a tight grip, bowing your head and praying someone will put an end to your misery. The music starts to play and there’s some scattered applause as you’re soon ushered backstage. 

Your hands are shaking and you’re in a complete daze as you head down the winding halls, murmuring words of gratitude to those who congratulate you. Within a few minutes, your cast is meeting up with you to celebrate—exchanging hugs and praise. Despite the somewhat pessimistic tone of your speech, you’re happy you won the award. 

Your cast. Your show…Your award. 

Wow. 

______

YouTube Video

By Proxy Director wins Outstanding Directing Emmy

Comments: 

rubynsapphic: holy shit hannibal looks so fucking proud

→ thimbo: his eyes are SHINING

→ rubynsapphic: fuckin GLIMMERING 

→ huhwhathuh: yeah, bc of the light… 

→ thimbo: sHH let us have this

→ thimbo: us gays need a win

user1234342: i would give anything to be hugged like that

→ gaypicnicbasket: sending digital hugs <3

→ user1234342: aweeee ty 😭

eughgross: gawd the director is such a mood… i would simply not know what to say 

→ hereforshitsandgigs: Yeah, I liked his speech. It wasn’t too long, and it avoided all the common pitfalls (thanking family/God, talking about childhood dreams, blah blah blah). The other directors seemed to appreciate it too. 

______

YouTube Video

The cast of By Proxy celebrates on the red carpet!

[celebration.mp4: A video of Hannibal and you arriving at the red carpet after the award ceremony, alongside the rest of the cast. All of you pose for a few pictures as a group, with the Emmy situated in the middle. You try to sneak away, but they’re quick to drag you into the picture. Then, the actor holding the Emmy hands it to you. You awkwardly hold one in each hand, realizing they’re leaving you to take individual photos.]

Comments: 

hahahastopit: the director is so humble i’m sobbing… he tried to sneak away from the group pic 😭

→ sotiltedatthetowers: omg i didn’t notice that until now!!! that’s so endearing

sorenahnah: HANNIBALLLL RUFF RUFF imeanhey: the love the cast has for the director…. <3 </3 <3

______

YouTube Short

emmys

[A video of Hannibal getting down on one knee and bowing to you, extending his arms and praising you on the red carpet as you smile for the photographers. Hannibal is cleverly situated off to the side, so that he’s out of frame. The photographers are flipping from you to him and back again. The caption reads: “Tag your number one supporter!” with a muscle emoticon and a red heart emoticon.]

Comments: 

godiminlovewithacriminal: who is this and how can i make him fall in love with me

→ hannibale: Hannibal Lecter—he plays Soren on By Proxy. Unfortunately, he’s already deeply in love with the director of the series. Lol.

→ godiminlovewithacriminal: damn it.

hatrededed: they’re everything to me

→ hurryupsluts: my blorbos!!!!!

→ hatrededed: ok i wouldn’t go that far

→ hurryupsluts: i would and did

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A picture from the red carpet, showing Hannibal bowing to you as you hold the two Emmy awards. The caption is simply: “Much deserved.”]

Comments: 

userahrahrah: jesus, hannibal’s ig is turning into a fan page 

→ ha2kdbe: bahaha fr tho

→ judahahas: i literally thought i followed the director by accident and had to double check

→ ha2kdbe: now we just need the director’s page to be a fanpage of hannibal

→ userahrahrah: the circle of life

woowoowoo: i can’t believe this is the pic he chose to post

→ woowoowoo: not the pic with the whole cast on the carpet, or even the one of them on stage. this one. 😭

→ tonythetigre: 😭😭😭

lollipopops: i’m getting tired of defending this mf 💀

rararahahahaha: wow this dude is WHIPPED

______

Instagram Post

margotverger

[A carousel of miscellaneous photos, ranging from a simple picture of latte art to a photo of the By Proxy cast party. The caption says “Good times with good people.”]

Comments:

alanananana: hey girl loved u in by proxy

→ sexy_priest: she slayed fr

→ alananana: ur username byeeee 💀

→ sexy_priest: i’m true to my roots

→ alananana: catholic school, mama? get into it

partypoopin: we see hannibal and the director in the cast party pic, y’all ain’t slick

→ thursdayadams: wdym

→ partypoppin: zoom in on the left side

→ phoenixiswright: HOLY SHIT

→ partypoopin: IKR

→ thursdayadams: pls tell me hannibal is doing that thing where you lean in close to hear someone better

→ eggplantparmana:  it looks like he is, ahsjhsjkgahkdjg

→ partypoppin: RHAOHGJKSDHFKL foaming at the mouth rn

→ phoenixiswright: the hand on the shoulder goodbye

______

Twitter Timeline

byproxyfan69

y’all, he’s so hot 

[directorfanedit.mp4: A fan edit of you, set to Killshot by Magdalena Bay.]

Retweeted by lecterhannibal.

mothafawkers

lord imagine how tired we are. of defending hannibal’s homosexuality. IMAGINE. how tired we are. 

→ userwhateveridc: what’d he do this time

→ mothafawkers: check his retweets

→ userwhateveridc: jfc he’s beyond saving

→ grahahaha: i know his pr team is not having fun… good luck explaining his retweets of 10+ fan edits of the director 🤣

______

Instagram Post

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[A picture of Hannibal’s hand, intertwined with someone else’s. There is no caption.]

Comments:

stannibal: we did not just get confirmation of them dating. no fucking way. NO WAY

→ justalilbit: of who dating???

→ stannibal: the director of by proxy & hannibal

→ justalilbit: wait, is that the director’s hand???> 

→ cannibalcouture: google show me this guy’s hands

→ cannibalcouture: i am ashamed of my search history rn… “by proxy director hands” … y’all better thank me for this

→ trashpanda23: we’re right there with ya bitch

→ cannibalcouture: update that has to be his hand

→ homosexualagenda: yeah compare it with Hannibal’s most recent photo of him at the restaurant… you can see his hands at the edge of the menu he’s holding… that’s def him

→ cannibalcouture: ok so where were you ten minutes ago when i was in the trenches

→ homosexualagenda: don’t worry about it 

thimbo: that should be meeee

→ turningtablez: holding your handddd

→ greativecolor: that should be meeee

→ afkalways: making you laughhhh

byproxydirector: 🖤

→ cannibalcouture: and what did i say 

→ homosexualagenda: and what did we say

→ stannibal: omfg this is not a drill

→ goodbyeelmo: SANTA IS REAL THANK YOU SANTA

→ cocoluvs: christmas was like months ago???

→ goodbyeelmo: idec

→ huhwhathuh: GOD IS GOODDDD

→ labasuramejor: i’m atheist but you know what… sure

→ livelaughlovelecter: how does it feel to be living my dream

→ gruffruffruff: pfffft, as if the director isn’t a catch too

→ livelaughlovelecter: that’s so true

→ sorenislovelife: so happy for y’all, omg!!!!

→ grrrrrr8910: lecterhannibal RESPOND WITH A HEART YOU FOOL

queenofyourheart: guys i’m as excited as anyone but they haven’t confirmed anything yet 😭😭 the director used the black heart emoji in that post of his friend too

→ fanficshawn: dammit you’re right 

→ hihowareyeh: fuck… you’re rightttt… arghhhhh

______

Some time later…

Instagram Post 

byproxydirector (Verified Account)

[kiss.jpg: A photo of Hannibal kissing you on the cheek while you give a cheeky pose to the camera. The caption just reads “Yes, we’re dating.”]

Comments: 

turningtablez: lmfaoooo

cannibalcouture: oh bitch it’s over it’s so OVER 

lratiol: found the next thing to never shut up about 

→ igoteczema: mood

→ yeahwhat3v3r: i’m gonna be so normal about this i swear i am (i won’t be)

bitesyoubitesyoh: there, now y’all can stop asking 🙄

→ lecturerera: bitch i have cvs receipts of you begging them for crumbs

→ bitesyoubitesyou: THIS AIN’T ABOUT ME

blasphemies: a win for the gays 

→ cheezwhiz: finally. i’ve been waiting 23 years for a win. 

→ blasphemies: gay marriage was legalized in the u.s. in 2016… 

→ cheezwhiz: how do u know i’m american 

→ blasphemies: your username is literally cheez whiz 

→ cheezwhiz: …ok fair 

livelaughlovelecter: hannibal looks so in love it’s fucking crazy 

→ rararahahahaa: i don’t know him in real life obv… but i’ve never seen him smile like that and i’ve been a fan for almost a decade

→ livelaughlovelecter: sobbing

lecterhannibal: Yes, we are dating.

→ triciamartela: i’m in tears

→ troll23968: no you’re not

→ triciamartela: i could be. don’t underestimate me. 

______

Youtube Video

hannibal being protective of his bf for 5 minutes straight 

Comments: 

→ getawayfrommeh: i’ve been WAITIN for this one

→ heheheeeee: hell yeah brutherrrr

Youtube Video

handirector being endgame for 10 minutes gay 

Comments: 

raraoohlala: how do they have so many moments already 😭😭 they were just confirmed and we already have 10 min comps of them 

→ jurassicsark: keep in mind, they could’ve been dating before they confirmed it.

→ raraoohlala: true… still! 

 starpatricks: i hope they get married and get a cute lil cottage and and and 

→ 2Biseverything: not everyone wants to get married bruv

→ starpatricks: i know i just wanted to crash the wedding

→ 2Biseverything: LOL fair 

______

Twitter Post

stardewshanefr3v3r

it’s a fucking shame that the director isn’t more active on social media… we’re missing out on so many boyfriend!hannibal pics #HanDirector

Replies: 

wannaplayagam3: TRUEEEE

→ yeahvixe: we’ll just have to imagine 😔 

→ byeflipflop: scenario to your heart’s content 

→ yeahvixen: but there’s no shortage of director content 😏😏 hannibal knows we need it 

hellogoofball

#HanDirector nation HOW WE FEELIN

thelaststrawz

why is the tag #HanDirector 😭 as if the director doesn’t have a whole ass first name 😭

byapproximate

#HanDirector i knew this was too faggy to be a moment between friends:

[presstour.mp4: A short clip taken from an interview Hannibal and you participated in on the press tour for the series. The interviewer asks Hannibal a question about something and you look to him for his response. 

When he answers, he glances at you and smiles, before bringing a hand to your shoulder to punctuate his answer. You blink before smiling back hesitantly.]

Replies: 

rulerofnone_: the mf wanted to touch him so bad 💀💀 

→ holographbitch: and then the way hannibal’s hand remained there for a whole ass minute… we really should’ve known

→ luckycharisma: no harm, no foul. better not to speculate anyways. *shrugs*

______

“I doubt your fans are very happy with me,” you sigh as you sit on Hannibal’s sofa, idly watching as hashtags for Hannibal and you soar up the Twitter Trending page. You just went public with your relationship a few hours ago, and it’s been kind of chaotic since then. 

“They’ll survive, I’m sure,” Hannibal says with a smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You lean into him in response, and the two of you share a comfortable solitude. 

“I hope so,” you eventually murmur. 

“They will,” he asserts. “And you’re doing yourself a disservice: you have your own following,” Hannibal reminds you. 

“I guess,” you admit. 

“I’ve had feelings for you for a while,” he admits after a few moments. 

You blink and break away from him slightly to study the expression on his face. Hannibal looks entirely sincere. 

“For how long?” you ask, your voice sounding far calmer than you feel.

“Since the first shoot week,” he confesses.

“Seriously?” you question disbelievingly. “I was a frazzled mess.”

“Maybe,” Hannibal says with a joking lopsided smile. He shakes his head and reaches out to grasp your hand. “No, I was attracted to your passion. You were—are—very easy to work with. I’ve never looked forward to shoot days like that before.” 

“And I was attracted to you too, of course,” he continues. “You’re very charming, even if you’re ‘a frazzled mess,’” he recites with a slight smile. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, unwilling to concede the argument. You remember how utterly exhausted and overwhelmed you felt those first few days, working on your first truly big television. project. But Hannibal’s presence, his commitment to the project… it reassured you. You tell him as much. He squeezes your hand and the two of you return to an easy silence. 

______

A few days later…

Instagram Post 

lecterhannibal (Verified Account)

[flowers.jpg: A photo of black roses in an elegant glass vase. The caption is just a black heart emoji.]

channibalism: AWWWW the director was listening 🥹 i swear hannibal said his favorite flowers were black roses in an interview once… 

→ grahahahaa: he must’ve 

→ bananafishies: yeah that sounds about right 

snoilets: you guys are so cute you’re going to make me vomit

→ alexhamiltonburr: damn i forgot gay people can also be annoying (/j)

→ imeansovereign: LMFAO

→ grahahahaa: this coming from a burr/hamilton ship acct is crazy

→ alexhamiltonburr: shhhhhhHH

→ coolwhehip: they’re adorable fr. can’t wait to see them ALL over pinterest

→ snoilets: omg, the pinterest girlies are gonna go crazyyyy

→ joegoldbergisaslut: well damn, guess i’m a pinterest girly now cause i’m goin’ CRAZYYY

byproxydirector: 🖤

→ lecterhannibal: 🖤🖤

→ grrrrrr8910: FINALLY

→ artisticbitch: and on the seventh day, god rested

→ houndoom: balance in the force has been restored

author's notes: You can really tell I was struggling to: a) come up with usernames; and b) write an ending for this fic. Ah well. I still think it’s a fun read.

anyways, thanks for reading!

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Stray Gods x Odypen/Odydio/Odydiopen

To Odysseus

You’ve got one big mouth on you, don’t you?

Yet it’s me who’s closing in

Think I like that mouth on you… Won’t you?

So as a Fic…I see this as many ways

These sentiments maybe when:

Odysseus courts Penelope, he smooth talks her, whatever and she says something along the line of this.

Odysseus sweet talking himself out of trouble. Pen witnesses his wit and talks to him after.

Diomedes is annoyed due to Odysseus. Odysseus says something smart. Diomedes responds with “You’ve got one big mouth on you, don’t you?” I like that with them.

Odysseus tries to encourage/annoy Diomedes. Dio isn’t in the mood for it, say’s something like, “I love that pretty voice of yours, you know that, but I need you to shut up right now?” Odysseus is flustered or whatever.

After the Odyssey, the three of them are in bed. And Odysseus is snoring like nobody’s business (ha), Diomedes is so confused how Ody’s snoring is still cute after all this time. Pen tells him to accept it. Ody starts sleep talking, Pen and Dio start responding as if Odysseus is actually talking. (Just being cute together like)

Odysseus: Pennn, you so pretttyyy

Diomedes: Yes, I can concur

Penelope: Don’t have to tell me that, I’m gorgeous.

Diomedes: Humble much?

Odysseus: Dio, you gottsome pretty (voice drops) DEAD (normal voice) eyes

Penelope:

Diomedes: …what the actual fuck?

(Muffled Laughter) Penelope: what-why did his-holy shi-(pen commences to wheeze her ass off)

Diomedes: Am I- am I supposed to be flattered? Or offended-cause could it be my eyes are both pretty and dead looking-

Penelope: (still laughing) nononono you-you gotta say it like he did, DEAD, haHAA-

Diomedes: Or my eyes look pretty-

Penelope: I’m not listening to you unless you say it properly.

Diomedes: Fine, DEAD, cus we could-

Penelope: (eyes tearing up, body shaking, back breaking laugh)

Diomedes: I’m gonna sleep in the guest room.

Penelope: No wait-

Odysseus: getcHO ASS BACK HERE NEOWWWWWW

Diomedes:

Penelope:

Diomedes: is- thefuck- is he still asleep?

Penelope: Yes, but does it really matter? Through sickness and in health and cute insults, get back here.

Diomedes: when you wake up, we are gonna have a talk.

Screaming *Odysseus: (turns his head 180 degrees like owl) I AM GOING TO EXPLAIN TO YOU ABOUT HILL AND HORSE, SHUT YOUR- inhale* EYESSSSSSSSSS

Diomedes:

Penelope:

Diomedes: Nah. Mm no. Troy was fine, this is crap.

Penelope: He said I’m pretty.

headcanon (after the Odyssey, Odysseus sleep talks/walks a lot, sometimes it’s sweet, funny, kinda creepy, other times it’s sad and heart breaking. But they got him. They hug and give Odysseus kisses when he wakes up)

Yeah. Fic writers, please write. Especially since they are planning to take Ao3 down. Why can’t they just leave the good stuff alone 😭🥲

[2baabbies]

🖤 Knee Socks (Changbin x Reader) 🖤

Crossposted under 2Babbies on Ao3 <3

(decided to crosspost this today for all the changbin fuckers, I hope you like it 🫶🏻)

Pairings: established frenemies changbin x reader, to lovers

Words: 4100

Summary: Changbin stops by uninvited to pick up the jacket you borrowed from him. You are annoyed that he has interrupted your down time on your day off, but maybe he’ll find a way to make it up to you?

(inspired by the Arctic Monkeys song!!)

Humour + Fluff + Smut

afab + fem!reader

CWs: reader and binnie are mean and they swear at each other but they actually looove each other, playful insults are thrown around, picking on your crush to hide your real feelings??, jokes about murderers/getting murdered, gamer girl!reader, changbin projects on reader based on how she’s dressed (but they’re both down bad so it’s fine)

Smut Tags: taunting/teasing, explicit consent because consent is sexy, big dick changbin, changbin sock fetish, slight dom dynamics but reader and bin are both kind of switches in this one, changbin going down on reader, some edging, vaginal fingering, begging, praise, slight degradation, handjob, mutual/guided masturbation, dirty talk, confessions during sex

!!ATTENTION!!

Reposting this fic to other platforms, including as a translation, is expressly prohibited. Do not copy, alter, or claim this fic as your own. Absolutely no permission is given to anyone to post my works, even with credit, and this fic should only appear on Ao3 or Tumblr under my accounts. Reposting is not only plagiarism, but a direct violation of my wishes as the original writer and owner. Please respect writers and don’t steal!

Likes, reblogs, asks and comments are very welcome and appreciated <3

~~~

The fourth phone call in three minutes prompts some concern, so you forfeit your competitive match to give the caller your full attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?” Changbin responds casually.

“I’m trying to rank. Is something wrong?”

“Rank? Christ, are you playing that stupid game again?”

“Felix is two whole levels above me!”

“… So?”

“Felix isn’t even good, he’s not allowed to be two levels higher than me!”

There is a pause on the other end and you think he may have hung up before he speaks.

“So that’s what you’re doing? Wasting your day away on your computer?”

“Why are you complaining? I went out with you and Chan last night. And I don’t have another day off for two weeks, so I have to grind as much as I can today. And fyi, you’re putting me at a disadvantage. I just left a match to answer your stupid call because I thought you were getting murdered or something. That could’ve been a win.”

“You think I would call you if I was getting murdered?”

“Yeah, I think you would. You know why? Because you’re stupid.”

“Hey hey hey, be nice.”

“What do you want? You’re wasting my precious time.”

“You stole my jacket last night, e-girl, I’m here to get it back.”

“I’m not an e-girl- wait, you’re here? Right now?”

“Wasting away in the lobby. Waiting for someone to come and murder me.”

You stand up from your chair and pad out of your room to your intercom. You hang up your phone and shout into the speaker.

“Quit loitering, shithead!”

“Fuck you!” Changbin shouts back.

You unlock your apartment door then buzz him in.

“Doors are unlocked. Your jacket is on the couch. Get your shit and get out.”

You hear him giggle maniacally as he opens the now unlocked lobby door and roll your eyes before returning to your bedroom. You quickly queue for a new match and put your headphones on. You join in immediately and the sound of Changbin entering your apartment is drowned out by the sounds of the game. You think you hear him say something from the other room but you opt to ignore him to maintain your kill streak. The match ends with a win and Changbin startles you as he speaks up beside you.

“You have an addiction, you know that right?”

You pull your headphones down and glare at him.

“Dude! What are you still doing here?”

“Look at this,” He picks up one of the many empty energy drink cans scattered across your desk, “You’re going to have a goddamn heart attack. I told you to lay off these. And your desk is a mess!”

“Shut up! Why are you in here?”

“You left your door unlocked. Not safe. That’s how murderers get in.”

You groan.

“Stop lecturing me! You were two minutes coming up, at most.”

“Yeah, but what if I wasn’t? And what if there was a murderer who was waiting just outside your door? Did you think of that, Ms. Noise-Cancelling-Headphones?”

“But there wasn’t a murderer! You’re just an idiot!”

You spin your chair towards him, clenching your fists in exasperation. He huffs and crosses his arms, his blue jacket slung over his broad shoulders. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he swallows before looking away.

“What the Hell are you wearing?”

You look down at your attire as you sit cross-legged in your gaming chair. You had expected to spend the whole day inside, so your outfit was not exactly guest appropriate but it suited your personal comfort level just fine. You are wearing a thick oversized sweater that drapes over your lap, no pants, topped off with fluffy socks that cover your legs and end just above your knees. The sweater hangs low, doing little to cover your chest and cleavage, and the socks squeeze the plush insides of your thighs. Normally you would have been more embarrassed dressing this way in front of your friend, but Changbin had not been invited into your room and you were still annoyed at him for taking up your personal time.

“What’s wrong? They’re just my pajamas.”

“You sleep in that? Fuck, you really are an e-girl.”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s comfy. And look, the socks have beans.”

You lift your leg to show the bottom of your foot, where cat paws are printed on the socks. He slaps your leg down firmly.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? There’s beans!”

“I can see that.”

You notice a dark blush dusting his cheeks as you go to lift your leg again. This time he holds your leg down by your thigh to prevent you from lifting it.

“Would you stop that? Have some modesty will you?”

“Modesty? They’re cat socks.”

“And you’re wearing them like some sort of pervert.”

You curl up in your chair and turn back to your pc.

“Lee Know would appreciate them.”

“Yeah, he probably has a catgirl fetish. He’s your target audience.”

You glare softly at him.

“I’m telling him you said that. And there’s no audience. This is just how I dress when I’m alone.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s not supposed to be weird men in my room!”

He blinks in surprise then gapes, offended, at your words.

“I am not a weird man. Take that back.”

“You just called me a pervert. Because of cat socks.”

“I’m sorry! But don’t flash me!”

“Flash you?”

He points at your lap, and this makes you blush. All you see is the gap of bare flesh not covered by your sweater or your socks. You throw your hands up in defeat as he gestures impatiently, and his attention on your thighs suddenly makes you self-conscious. You slap your hands down to cover them.

“There! Happy?”

“Not that! You were- your legs- just don’t spread your legs open when you’re not wearing any clothes, yeah?”

“These are clothes.”

“You’re not wearing pants, and you might not be wearing underwear either.”

You scoff.

“You think I’m not wearing underwear? Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“Prove it.”

You peer at him.

“That I’m not a freak?”

“That you’re wearing underwear.”

“You’re weird as fuck man.”

You kick your legs up on the desk, knocking a few cans to the floor in the process. Changbin grumbles about your slobbish habits and picks the cans up, then storms out of your room. You wait a moment for him to return and when he does not, curiously get up from your chair to check on him. You spot him in the kitchen from your doorway and pause to watch him. He has his hands braced against the counter and his head lowered as he takes measured breaths. He notices you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you, his jacket is still slung over his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Your eyes flit over his arms, flexing as he grips the counter. Then they roam over his black shirt, tightly fitted over his biceps and abs, then down until they land on the unmistakable bulge in his slacks. You look back up to meet his gaze. He looks wrecked, watching you with heavy eyes as his cheeks burn with shame.

You jump as something falls in your room and hits the floor, bringing you both out of the silent trance you had been in for who knows how long.

“What was that?”

You shrug.

“Murderer. Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“My apartment’s haunted. That’s why I never have anyone over.”

He laughs with a hint of strain.

“You’re funny.”

“Changbin.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll go, just give me a second,” He rasps.

You do not give him a second. You clear your throat and tug your sweater off in one quick swoop. He stares, wide-eyed, as you toss it to the floor and cross your arms. You stare back at him, wearing nothing but a comfy sports bra, your underwear, and your knee socks. The underwear are lame, not even a cute pair. They are the kind with a little satin bow, pink with faded prints of flowers and bunnies, and a small rip in the frilly waistband. There is nothing sexy or enticing about them.

Changbin’s cock strains against the zipper of his pants, no doubt aching to be released. He exhales slowly as his eyes skim over your body. He audibly swallows then looks away.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman before. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

He groans and throws his jacket to the floor then begins crossing the room, tearing his shirt off next in the process. You back up into your room, tripping over another discarded can then falling back on your bed. You sit up just as he enters the doorway. Suddenly, he pauses. He grips the top of the doorframe, giving you a clear view of his muscles at work. You nonchalantly check him out as he pants softly. Then, he points at you.

“You’re the devil, you know that right?”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

“Are you trying now?”

You gnaw on your lip and eye his crotch again lazily. Then you shrug.

“Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Look at how you’re dressed.”

“I didn’t dress to impress anyone today, Binnie. Who would even see it? Look at me, why would I wear ratty underwear and a sweaty sports bra if I was trying to look sexy? I’ve been a good girl, you’ve been the bad boy thinking dirty thoughts.”

You emphasize your statement by propping your legs up and spreading them open. He shivers and takes in the clear view of your scantily clad figure.

“y/n,” He says seriously, “I need to know before we go any further if you want this? I’ll stop the moment you ask, I promise, but I want to know before I do something stupid if you even want to keep this going or if you’re just teasing me. Because I… really want you, and I think I’m gonna lose it if we keep this up for much longer.”

You smile and respond softly.

“I trust you, Binnie. I know you would never hurt me. So whatever you want to do, you can do it to me.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Take your panties off, please.”

You smirk at his hesitant order but obey it. You hook your thumbs into the elastic of your panties and slide them off, taking your time and keeping your legs spread as you complete the process. He watches you greedily, drinking in the sight of you as you pull your bra off next. You discard both garments to the floor carelessly, then dip your thumb in the cuff of your sock and begin pulling it down.

“No. Leave those on.”

You pull your hand away, fluttering your fingers playfully and tilting your head. He finally enters the room, crossing slowly and kicking the can away when he meets it. He stops at the end of the bed. You hold your breath as he stares down at you, and watch as he reaches down to caress your ankle then gently grasps your calf. You let out a shaky breath right before he drags you to the end of the bed by one leg. You gasp as the bottoms of your thighs come flush to his knees.

He meanders fixing your knee socks one at a time. He tugs them up to hug your thighs and runs his thumbs just under the bands to touch the soft skin beneath. You shudder when he looks at you, then grabs your other thigh and squeezes both of them. Your legs quiver as he holds them open and massages underneath your thighs.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nod and he shakes his head.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you. But I don’t want you to stop. I really don’t want you to stop.”

Changbin falls to the floor on his knees and grips the tops of your socks, he then hikes your legs over his shoulders. You gasp and clench your fingers in the bedsheets when he dives in to lap at your pussy.  You throw your head back and release a pitchy moan as he slowly mouths at you. His fingers curl to stretch the fabric of your socks and your thighs hug his face as he prods you open with his tongue. 

Despite how ruined he looked and how wired he said he felt, he eats you out with an astounding amount of restraint. He rolls his tongue inside between filthy open-mouth kisses, eyes boring into yours as he makes obscenely wet noises. You are not sure if they come from his saliva or your arousal, but it makes your core ache nonetheless. You throw one hand against your forehead and slap the other down on the bed as he continues his tortuous pace.

“Changbin,” You whine, the last part of his name fading off in a squealing moan.

“Mhm,” He peppers a few kisses on the insides of your thighs and nuzzles his cheeks there gently, “What is it, baby?”

“Stop teasing…”

He punctuates his response with a long, deep, kiss right on your clit. You cry out in frustration as he smirks down at you.

“No.”

“Binnie…”

“You teased me, it’s my turn, honey.”

You huff and mewl as he resumes eating you out.

“But I… I didn’t…”

He groans, rumbling your heat as he does so. You buck your hips and moan as he begins picking up the pace, then breaks away. You whimper and glare at him as he licks his lips clean.

“Stop…”

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks breathlessly, “Or do you want me to give in to you?”

“Will you please just fuck me?”

His breath hitches at how soft and desperate your voice sounds. He shakes his head and brings his lips to your heat again.

“Why?” You cry, tears pricking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

“Shhh, patience, baby. Patience.”

You run your fingers through your hair and arch your back as you grind against his face. He finally grants you relief when he props his elbows on the bed, your thighs still straddle his face, and he pushes three of his fingers between your folds. He buries his face in your heat and fingerfucks you, continuing to do so until you climax. You can only make mindless, breathy, sounds as he stimulates you through your high. You grip the bed sheets and squeeze your thighs together on instinct, mind going blank as pleasure pulses endlessly through your core. He holds your thighs open and continues suckling at your clit, watching you fall apart from his tongue. 

Slowly, he stops and lowers you on the bed. He lets your legs fall to his sides and presses chaste kisses over your thighs and abdomen. Your legs twitch and you let out a wrecked moan as your pussy throbs. His hands roam sweetly over your thighs, petting and soothing you to relax.

“There you go. Good girl. Wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

You make a short, annoyed, sound.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

He chuckles and stands up, unzipping his slacks and pulling them down. You let your head loll to the side as you watch him. His cock pitches a tent in his boxers, standing proudly as he shucks his pants off. He takes his time rolling the band of his boxers over his length, no doubt enjoying your attention. You bite your lip as he strips himself down then kneels beside you on the bed. You run your hand over his thigh and give a teasing squeeze, then look up for his reaction.

“Mhm.”

“Well?” He murmurs.

“You’re big.”

He snorts, his cock stands proud and drips precum as he moves over you.

“Yeah. It’s a pain.”

“Not for me.”

“Oh? You can take a big dick right now?”

He taps his fingers against your pussy and chuckles when you whine and roll away. You glare over your shoulder as he rubs your hip.

“You’re still too sensitive, baby.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He rolls his eyes.

“My fault for giving you an amazing orgasm, I guess.”

“Yeah, how are you going to get your dick wet now? Stupid.”

His cock jumps and he groans softly at your chiding.

“I’m not.”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

Your tone is more insecure than you wanted it to be, but there is no way to take it back now. Changbin’s eyes soften and he rolls you over to face him. His hand comes to cup your cheek as you avoid looking at him.

“Is that what I said?”

“No.”

“Right. Do you need to hear me say it?”

You nod shyly and he shoots you a soft smirk.

“I want you. I need you. You’re so beautiful.”

You laugh softly.

“Okay-”

“I want to make you feel loved. I want to take care of you.”

“Oh, so now you want to be romantic? What happened to the teasing and manhandling?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Well, that was when I was hungry, baby. I’m not thinking straight until I’ve had my fill.”

He leans down, hovering his lips over yours.

“Are you thinking straight now?” You murmur.

“No. You’re still making me crazy.”

You giggle and brush your nose against his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Kiss you?”

You nod timidly. He chuckles as you both close the space between you and share a slow, sweet kiss. You sigh into his mouth as he pets your cheek with his thumb.

“What about now? What do you want me to do?” He asks.

“Fuck me?” 

“Hah… I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, baby.”

“Pretty big talk for a guy that got hard over socks.”

“Well. They are on you.”

“Shut up.”

You kiss again, a bit more heated. Changbin melts into your arms as you pull him closer and he grinds against the crease of your hip. You giggle as he moans and chases the friction a second time.

“Can’t fit your big dick in my pussy? Just gonna hump me like a dog instead?”

He groans and raises his hips up, his cock still hangs and drags over your abdomen.

“You’re so rude. I’m being so sweet to you.”

“Gonna cry about it?”

“Would that turn you on?”

You shrug and give a teasing grind against his thigh. He curses softly and drops his head.

“Don’t make me beg, I might really cry then,” You laugh and he whimpers, “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

You giggle and roll away for a moment to grab lotion from your bedside drawer. When you turn back he shoves his face into the crook of your neck and lets out a shuddery breath onto your chest. You clutch his head close and kiss his forehead as he props his leg over yours. You lube your fingers then slip them between your bodies and around his length. He jerks his hips impatiently as you stroke him slowly.

“y/n…”

“Yes, baby?”

“F-Fuck…”

“You like that?”

“Mh-hm.”

He pants and pulls you closer as you work your hand around him. He curses and throws his head back to gaze up at you. Your touch slows as you watch his lips part in a small whimper.

“Please,” He breathes, “I’m so close.”

“You’ve been such a good boy.”

He nods and cries out in frustration as you slide your hand up his abdomen. You scratch your nails over his chest and gently direct him.

“Wanna come? Go ahead, Binnie. I want to see you touch yourself.”

He makes a choked noise and leans up to brace himself over you.

“That’s not fair,” He takes a shuddery breath, “I helped you.”

“I am helping,” You pout, “What? Are you saying you can’t get off? This isn’t enough for you?”

He looks down as you dip your fingers between your legs and play with your clit. He curses at the soft sounds that escape your lips. He steals another kiss and slowly begins stroking himself over you. You giggle and murmur quiet encouragement against his lips as you lazily pleasure yourself.

“Wanna come, Binnie? Wanna come on my pussy?”

“Y-es…”

He kisses you again, hard, as his movements become faster and uncoordinated. You cup his cheek and allow the fingers between your legs to graze absentmindedly over your sex. He slowly breaks away and gazes into your eyes as he works himself to release. His eyes fall shut and he groans your name.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck,” He gasps.

He jerks himself through his climax, moaning desperately as he spills his cum over you. You watch his expression intently as milky streaks fall over your abdomen and crotch. You glance down and spread the sticky substance between your fingers, then look back at him. He watches you through fluttering lashes and pants into the shared air. Then, he smirks and leans down to share a wet kiss. When you part he kisses your cheek then collapses on top of you, nuzzling your neck.

“I love you.”

You scoff.

“I make you jerk off to me once and that’s all it takes for you to fall in love? You’re pathetic.”

He whines in protest.

“I loved you before that, bitch. And, I’ve jerked off to you many times-”

“Ugh, you freak…” You respond with no animosity.

He laughs breathlessly and heaves a tired sigh. “I mean it. And not just the masturbating part.”

You snort and listen to his labored breath slow then settle into a tranquil rhythm before breaking the silence.

“I know. I love you too. Even if you get turned on by socks.”

Changbin laughs and squishes his face against your cheek. You turn your head and press a loving kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” You mumble before granting him another kiss.

“Mhm… I will… later.”

You gasp as he goes to pull you closer and gently keep him at an arm’s length.

“Ah, I’m dirty.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You laugh then make a disgusted noise as he pulls your hips together and kisses your neck. You melt into his arms and let him cradle your head to his chest. You sigh and nose sleepily at his shoulder.

“You better clean me up.”

“M’yeah…”

“M’serious…”

“Mh-hm…”

You relax and doze off embracing each other.

You wake again hours later. No light peeks in from the window, the only thing illuminating your room is your desktop screen. The red numbers of the 24-hour clock beside your bed tell you that it is midnight. You fight your way out from where you are tightly tucked into bed. Changbin’s shirt covers your figure as you sit up then slip out of bed. The shirt falls just above the top of your knee socks, leaving a sliver of skin peeking out. You finally notice Changbin, seated in your gaming chair and just wearing your headphones and his boxers, focused on the game playing in front of him. He has cleaned up the desk and his jacket is folded neatly over the back of the chair. You watch in silence then tiptoe over as the match finishes.

“What are you doing?”

He jumps and throws his hand over his chest as he looks at you.

“y/n!”

“Why are you playing my game?”

“... No reason.”

You take the mouse from him before he can queue and open your profile. He smiles sheepishly when you gape at your stats.

“You brought me up five levels?”

“Did I?”

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“What, you really think Felix leveled up all by himself?”

You blink as you process his words then grin and fall into his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss his cheek.

“Thank youuu.”

“Don’t thank me, just get better so you don’t have to play so much.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! All my teammates suck.”

“Mhm, that’s what they all say.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his chest.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

“Wanna show me how much you appreciate it?”

You smirk.

“Yeah. What do you want me to do?”

His thumb glides down your clothed leg then back up again.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I don’t?”

“I’ll just let you have this seat and then I’ll take care of the rest.”

You stand and watch him rise then turn to fall to his knees as you fall back in the chair. He smirks and pushes his shirt up out of the way, then draws your legs over his shoulders.

[inseobts]

Hii! Hope you are doing good! :> can i please request the Reaction of Luffy and 2-3 characters of your choice when their partner just sometimes gives their booty a simple pat, a gently slap or even a tiny squeeze as their own kind of affection for them? They might also be bold enough to do it in front of other since it is just their own way to say they appreciate their partner.

Thank you for your time and i hope this isn't weird

Booty Pat

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: 0.9k each

a/n: sorry, I've had writer's block these past few days, but I hope they still turned out well T.T

tags: fluff, humor, established relationship, physical affection, playful

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

When you first got together with Luffy, you weren’t sure how to handle him.

He’s loud. He’s warm. He’s always touching your shoulder, your hand, sometimes flopping across your lap like a big rubbery cat.

You liked it. You really liked it.

But back then, you kept your hands to yourself. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe you were just too shy to be that free. Touching Luffy felt like touching the sun, a little too much all at once.

But Luffy never pulled away. Not once. He grinned when you kissed his cheek. He pulled you into hugs like it was breathing. And after a few months, something in you just… relaxed.

The first time it happens, you don’t even think about it.

You’re walking through the hallway of the Sunny, a towel thrown over your shoulder. Luffy’s standing by the wall, one foot up, talking to Usopp about how he once fought a giant goldfish. Again.

You pass by him, barely listening.

Pat.

Your hand lands right on his butt. Light. Natural. Like you’ve done it a hundred times.

You keep walking.

Three steps later, your brain catches up.

Wait.

You freeze mid-step "Did I just—?"

You turn slowly. Luffy’s head is tilted at you, blinking. Then his mouth spreads into that huge grin he always gives you when you’re being weird.

He starts laughing “Oi, Y/N! Did you just hit my butt?!”

Your face burns “I—I don’t know?? Maybe?”

He’s still laughing “That was funny! Do it again!”

You stare “What?”

“Do it again!” he repeats, turning and sticking his butt out toward you “Come onnnn!”

Usopp’s choking from laughter in the background “WHAT is happening right now?!”

You blink once. Then twice. Then your hand goes out and smack.

Luffy throws his head back “BAHAHA! I love you!”

You grin, finally relaxing “I love you too, idiot.”

A few days later you’re by the railing, watching the sea. Luffy walks past behind you.

Then... Pat.

You freeze. You whip your head around “Luffy.”

He’s already giggling “I did what you did to me!”

You gasp “You little thief.”

“You started it!” he shouts, running away before you can chase him.

Now it’s a Thing.

You pat his butt when you pass by. He pats yours when he’s bored. Sanji drops a plate once when you do it during dinner. Robin covers her mouth politely. Zoro grumbles “I hate this crew” everytime.

Luffy just keeps laughing. Everytime.

And you feel freer. Happier.

You might’ve started as the shy one. But now you’re the Captain’s number one butt-patter. And he’s totally okay with that.

One day you’re lying on the deck, half-asleep, enjoying the sun. Luffy’s voice makes you peek one eye open “Oi, Y/N…”

He stands over you, hands on hips, tilting his head.

“You slapped my butt three times today.”

You squint at him “Only three?”

He gasps “ONLY?!”

You yawn “That’s nothing. I’m pacing myself.”

Luffy bursts out laughing and flops next to you, limbs spread wide like a starfish “You’re so weird.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” He stretches, his shirt riding up a bit “It’s funny. Makes me feel like meat.”

You snort “You are meat.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

One day Sanji is plating lunch. Zoro is already asleep at the table. Nami’s balancing ledgers while Robin reads quietly. Peaceful. Calm.

Then you walk behind Luffy.

Your hand lifts, and—Pat.

Nice and casual. Right cheek.

Luffy doesn’t even flinch anymore “That one was soft” he says through a mouthful of rice.

“Appreciation pat” you explain.

Chopper looks up from his bowl “What’s that mean?”

“It means they’re in love” Robin answers, smiling gently.

Usopp sighs dramatically “It used to be peaceful around here…”

“Don’t be jealous” you tease, sitting next to Luffy.

Luffy, unbothered, reaches over and places a lettuce leaf on your head.

You blink “What is this?”

“Affection” he says proudly.

“…Lettuce?”

“Yeah!”

“Luffy, no.”

The next day… you’re walking across the deck when you see him. He’s leaning over the side, watching the fish below, all relaxed and dreamy.

Perfect.

You sneak up. Slowly. Carefully.

Then—Pat.

“BAHAHA!” Luffy’s shoulders shake with laughter “You really do it every day, huh?”

“Every hour, actually.”

He turns to face you, eyes twinkling “Is it a rule?”

You nod “Butt appreciation is a serious job.”

He throws his arms around you, pulling you into one of his tight, full-body Luffy hugs “You’re soooo weird” he mumbles into your shoulder “But I like it.”

You grin “Then you better keep that butt safe. It’s a national treasure now.”

He pulls back, suddenly serious. “Do I need to put it in a safe?”

You laugh. “It is the safe.”

Meanwhile, somewhere on the Sunny…

Zoro: “If I see one more slap, I’m jumping off the ship.”

Nami: “You won’t.”

Zoro: “Watch me.”

Usopp: “We’re all just living in Y/N’s world now, huh?”

Brook: “Yohoho! May I pat a booty too—?”

Everyone: “NO.”

Back on deck, Luffy’s grinning like a fool while you sneak another pat on your way past him.

You’re not counting anymore. He is.

You’re at twelve for the day. A new record.

He pumps his fists in the air like he just won a battle.

“TWELVE!!”

You blow him a kiss and call back, “Lucky number thirteen is coming soon!”

He spins around, arms up, ready for it.

“OKAY! I’M WAITING!”

The others groan.

But you just smile.

This is how you love. And Luffy totally gets it.

── .✦ Zoro:

You and Zoro start slow.

Which, considering he nearly sliced your head off the first time you met, is kind of impressive.

He doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t do big shows of emotion. But when you touch him, even just resting your hand on his arm? He doesn’t move away. He lets you stay close. Sometimes he leans into it.

Eventually, things change. You get together. And Zoro… tries.

He’s not romantic. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But when you’re alone, he’s soft. Real soft.

You can kiss his jaw and pull at his shirt and he just closes his eyes and lets you. He grunts, sure, and mumbles, “Tch, you’re annoying” but his hand’s already on your back, holding you there.

He’d never say it, but he loves your attention.

Until one day, when you’re walking behind him on the deck one morning. He’s shirtless, of course. Sweaty from training. Muscles flexing.

Your brain turns off. Your hand acts on instinct.

Pat.

Right on the butt. Perfect aim. Not hard. Just… appreciative.

Zoro freezes.

You freeze.

He turns his head. Slowly. Eye twitching.

“What the hell was that?”

You blink “…Compliment.”

He grabs your wrist. Not rough, but firm “Don’t.”

Your brows raise “Why not? I like your butt.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care...” you say, smirking.

His ears go red.

A few days later you’re in the kitchen grabbing water. Zoro walks past. You’re feeling bold.

You go for it again.

He catches your hand before you make contact.

“Are you serious?” he mutters, gripping your wrist.

You just grin “It’s my love language.”

“My love language is ‘don’t do that where other people can see’.”

You pout “You let me when we’re alone.”

“That’s the point.”

“How?”

“Because no one’s watching!” he snaps, glancing around the room.

Sanji is definitely watching.

And cackling.

Zoro’s eye twitches.

You lean in close, whispering, “I think your crew should know you’re loved.”

He groans “They don’t need to know that through my ass.”

Later that night you’re sitting in the crow’s nest together. Just the two of you. Zoro’s sharpening his swords, quiet as always.

You crawl over and lean against him. He doesn’t say anything, but his arm shifts so you can fit under it.

You smile “Can I touch your butt now?”

He exhales slowly “You’re so annoying.”

“But you like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your hand drifts down.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

You grin into his shoulder “So soft.”

He grumbles something under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him whisper, “Only you get to do that.”

The next morning you walk past him on the main deck.

You raise your hand.

Zoro glares before you even make contact.

“Don’t.”

You laugh “Okay, okay.”

You wait until you’re alone again.

Then—Pat.

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

You’ve been good.

Sort of.

You don’t touch Zoro’s butt in front of the crew. Not technically. Not unless you’re quick and sneaky. Or it’s dark. Or no one’s facing your direction. You’ve developed stealth.

But Zoro is a swordsman.

His instincts are terrifying.

So no matter how fast you move... Wrist. Grabbed. Every time.

“Stop trying it,” he grumbles, walking beside you one afternoon “You’re not slick.”

You smile sweetly “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do.”

You absolutely do.

Later, in the galley the crew’s eating dinner. Luffy’s stacking plates with meat, Sanji’s yelling, and Zoro is sitting next to you, arms crossed, calm.

Too calm.

You glance at his profile.

Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders. That little frown he always wears like it’s stitched to his face.

You bump your knee against his under the table.

And when he's about to stand up he glances at you.

You grin.

Your hand slides behind him and he catches your wrist. Under the table.

Without looking.

You nearly burst out laughing.

He squeezes your hand under the table and mutters, “You’re gonna make me leave.”

You whisper, “I'd like the view anyway.”

He grunts. But he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not yet.

Meanwhile… Nami is staring.

Robin’s hiding a smile behind her book.

Usopp squints “Are they fighting? Or flirting?”

Sanji: “Honestly, with those two? Who knows.”

Luffy looks over “Zoro’s mad again?”

Zoro looks up “I’m not mad!”

Everyone stares.

Zoro realizes what he just yelled “…Shut up.”

Later that night you’re in the hallway, just outside your room. Zoro’s stretching, half shirtless, towel around his neck.

You pass by.

You don’t even think this time.

Pat.

Zoro whips around “You promised!”

“That was hours ago. New day.”

“It’s still the same day!”

You lean against the wall, grinning “It’s our thing. You’re just in denial.”

“I’m not—!”

You tiptoe up, hands on his chest now “Admit it. You like it. Just not when people see.”

He looks away, ears turning red “…Yeah, well. Not everything has to be a damn show.”

You press a kiss to his cheek “That’s fair.”

Then your hand drops—Pat.

He groans “You are the worst.”

You grin “You love me.”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop you either.

The next morning you reach out in the galley.

Zoro doesn’t block you.

You blink “Wait. Are you letting me—?”

SMACK.

Right on your own butt.

You freeze.

Zoro stares at you, completely straight-faced “Balance.”

You gape “You just—?!”

He shrugs and walks away like it never happened.

Sanji drops a plate.

Usopp is screaming.

Luffy’s clapping like a seal.

Robin: “…Interesting.”

You’re left in shock “He fought back.”

You smile.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve always been the affectionate type.

Hugs? Yes. Kisses? Any time. Sitting in Sanji’s lap while he chops carrots? Standard.

So when you pat his butt one day as you pass him in the galley it’s not planned. Not even a big moment.

In facts, he’s leaning over the counter, stirring sauce, saying something about the perfect thickness.

And your hand just acts on its own.

Pat.

A quick, loving little thing. Like closing a cabinet.

And without even thinking, you’re already walking away when you hear a “Mon dieu.”

You turn back.

Sanji’s frozen in place. His cigarette has fallen out of his mouth. His entire body is trembling.

“Did you… was that… on purpose?” he whispers.

You raise an eyebrow “What? Did what? Oh... Wait, the butt thing?”

He grabs the counter. His knees wobble. He’s vibrating.

“You… you touched my—?!”

You nod “Yeah? I mean... I wasn't thinking but I like your butt.”

He spins in place. Hearts in his eyes. Actual pink hearts.

“I am in love.”

“You already were.”

“More.”

A few days later you’re walking into the kitchen. Sanji’s tossing vegetables with dramatic flair, humming a little tune. You pass behind him.

Pat.

Right cheek.

“OHHH!” He spins, almost flinging a carrot across the room “Mon amour! Again?!”

You just wink.

He’s already melting.

Luffy: “Oi, Sanji, I’m hungry.”

Sanji, still swirling with glitter and roses “Shut up, I’m being adored.”

One day during a fight, the Straw Hats are surrounded. Some minor pirate crew, nothing serious. Sanji’s kicking through them like they’re made of paper.

You dodge a sword and slide up behind him.

You’re both breathing hard, back to back.

Then, all your brin could think of? Smack.

Your palm lands right on his butt mid-fight.

He gasps “Darling!!”

He twirls mid-air and kicks three guys at once.

“YOU FUELED ME!!”

Usopp: “Did Y/N just slap his ass as a buff?!”

Zoro: “I hate this ship.”

Back on the Sunny…

“You really don’t mind it?” you ask, arms around his waist in the kitchen.

“Mind?” Sanji repeats, stunned.

He turns to you, taking your face in his hands like you’re made of sugar and light “You could grab me in front of the World Government and I’d kiss you on the spot.”

You grin “Is that a challenge?”

“Oh yes, please.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

The crew has stopped asking questions.

Any time they hear a pat, a smack, or even a playful squeeze, they just brace for the sound of Sanji’s lovesick shout “MON AMOUR!”

Brook: “Yohoho! He’s swooning again.”

Robin: “How charming.”

Nami: “They’re cute but I swear if I hear one more dramatic gasp—”

Pat.

“AHHHHHH!!”

Nami: “I’m moving ships.”

It’s been some time now since the very first pat.

At first, Sanji gasped like you’d proposed marriage every time you touched his butt. Heart eyes. Roses. Knees shaking. Full twirls. Theatrical monologues about how you must truly love him.

But now he looks like he's… used to it.

You pat him when he’s cooking. When he’s slicing. When he’s carrying groceries back from town. When he’s talking to Nami or Robin or any human being, even when he's bickering with Zoro. You sneak it in with expert timing.

At this point, the crew has even stopped reacting. Mostly.

And now Sanji doesn’t even flinch.

This morning you step into the galley. He’s standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up, dish towel tucked in his waistband.

He’s washing plates, quiet and calm, little bits of steam curling up from the hot water.

And he looks really good like this. Focused. Strong arms, wet hands, hair falling over his brow, shirt clinging to his back.

You cross the room like it’s instinct.

He doesn’t turn around. He hears your footsteps and hums lightly “Good morning, darling.”

Smack.

Your hand lands with a clean, perfect sound.

No gasp. No twirl. No drama.

Sanji just keeps scrubbing the plate.

“Careful,” he says. Calm. Smooth. Voice like caramel “I might start to expect that.”

Your fingers curl slightly. Just a little squeeze. Testing him.

Still nothing. A slow exhale. A slight tilt of his head. The corner of his mouth lifts.

You lean on the counter next to him “You’re not even gonna blush? A small drop of blood from your nose for me??”

He doesn’t look at you “If I blushed or got nosebleeds every time you touched me” he murmurs, “I’d die too soon and can't spend the rest of my life with you.”

Oh.

Now you’re the one blushing.

Five minutes later he finishes drying the dishes.

You’re sitting on the counter, watching him, legs swinging “I miss the twirls.”

He chuckles, setting a clean plate down “I still do them. In my head.”

You squint at him “Liar.”

He turns to face you.

And finally he smirks.

“Maybe I’ve just grown stronger,” he says, moving closer “Adapted to your constant, delicious affection.”

You try to keep your cool, but his hands are already braced on either side of your legs “You’re really okay with it?”

He leans in, breath warm “Darling,” he says, lips brushing your cheek, “the fact that you want to touch me all the time is the most romantic thing in the world.”

Then he pats your butt.

You yelp “HEY!”

He laughs, finally showing some of that old sparkle “Just returning the favor.”

You narrow your eyes “You trying to start something, Chef?”

“Only if you’re gonna finish it.” he whispers.

Outside the galley…

Zoro: “They’re still in there.”

Nami: “Yeah, I heard slapping.”

Brook: “I heard love.”

Luffy: “I heard food. Am I wrong?”

[chloeangelic]

update 3/26/24

Hey, long time no speak! I’m here to quickly inform you all about two things:

1. I have permanently removed all of my writing from here because I’m getting increasingly freaked out by chatbots, tumblr farming content (as if opting out will do anything), and all other creepy and nefarious use of AI to steal writers’ work. Writers and other creators are treated like absolute shit on here and I feel too protective over my own work. A lot of my masterlist also didn't feel representative anymore, and knowing it was all here was making it harder to write. I’ve felt sort of chained to my tumblr account, so for my own psychological wellbeing I just have to cut it off. 

My current writing is on my AO3 and I am regularly updating it there, however a lot of my old stuff has been privated cause I’m not happy with it at this point. I have backups of everything, so if there’s a specific piece of writing you miss and that you can’t find on my AO3/you can’t access AO3, please message me on discord at chloeangelic and I will make it available for download/send you the file! 

2. I will not be returning to this tumblr in any capacity, not now and not in the future. I will not stick around to answer messages either, so if you’re reading this and want to talk, I have logged out permanently, and the only way to get in contact with me is on discord or in my AO3 comment section. I go back and forth on deactivating this account, and it might happen in the future, so be prepared for that possibility. 

In case you didn’t know I left tumblr and you’re feeling like the pikachu meme right now, feel free to read this. 

I hope you’re all having a great year, and I’ll see you on AO3! <3

[multifandomfanficss]

It’s About Time

Ed Nygma/The Riddler x Reader

Prompt: Ed offers to help you with time management when you tell him you’re stressed at work. Your conversation is interrupted by an attack on the GCPD by the Maniax.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, cannibalism, r*pists, abuse, and general graphic violence. Gotham typical violence. Mental health struggles. Sensory issues and meltdowns common with autism. Panic. Near death experiences. Claustrophobia. References to being buried alive. Nightmares.

A/N: I’m rewatching Gotham and I didn’t realize the missed potential for hurt/comfort the first time I watched this show 7 years ago. My work load has been really heavy lately, but this show broke me out of my writers block and I made time for the writing bug. This takes place in the middle of Ed’s Riddler arc. He hasn’t fully become the Riddler yet, but he has already made his first kill. The reader has qualities of an autistic person, but is not explicitly said to be autistic. I accidentally code a lot of my characters to be autistic because I am, but this was more intentional to reflect Ed’s autistic coding. Feel free to read into it or not! You don’t have to be autistic to read and hopefully enjoy this! Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

“I’ve been so stressed lately.” You sigh. “It’s like I can’t get anything done that I actually need to get done.” You stand in the hallway of the precinct talking to your friend Ed. You were stressing about this case and Jim Gordon was making you go through hundreds of old files for him. You were never part of the real action, but the horrifying crime scene photos and evidence you had to pull through everyday was taking a toll on you. Gordon’s time crunches never helped either. You understood that lives were often on the line, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“What can some people never get enough of and others say is too much? What has the ability to fly when having fun or is stuck completely frozen when you need it to move?” He smiles. You stare at him blankly. You had not been getting enough sleep. You loved hearing his riddles, but you were never the best at giving him the answers. It was so hard for your mind to keep track of it all. “Do you give up?” He asks.

“My brain just isn’t braining right now.” You laugh. “What’s the answer?”

“Time.” He beams, happy with himself. “You should try to implement a better time management plan. You look tired all the time. It’s like you’re not even sleeping.”

“Thanks, Ed.” You give a dry laugh.

“You know what I mean.” You nod in an agreement with him. “You might be the only person who usually knows what I mean.” He says, fiddling with his fingers and the buttons on his coat.

He was right. Nobody quite seemed to get him, but nobody quite seemed to get you either. You had always felt this odd draw to him that you could never quite explain. Truthfully you think you have feelings for him, but you always bury them. He saw you as a friend and he really needed a friend. Besides he had been pinning over Kristen since before you even got to the precinct. You had mixed feelings towards her. On one hand you felt bad for her. She was always getting mixed up with shitty boyfriends who treated her poorly, but on the other hand she had a mean streak. You never liked how she treated Ed. It was like he wasn’t a person with feelings to her and that made you so angry.

“You’re right. I haven’t been sleeping.” You tell him.

“Why is that?” He asks.

“We live in Gotham. With the terrifying shit we see everyday, I don’t know how anyone sleeps.”

“Are you having nightmares again?” He asks, his face painted with concern.

“It’s fine. It’s just work stress. It’s just this case. I’m fine.” You smile. It wasn’t a real smile. Your smiles always came so naturally around Ed that he knew something was off. He was about to press when you heard gunshots coming from down the hall. Your body immediately froze like a dear in headlights in the middle of the hallway.

You’ve had violent people in the precinct before and it always made you nervous, but this was different. The Maniax were on the loose and you knew they were too unhinged to care about survivors or bargains. With Jerome Valeska at the helm, along side cannibals, rapists, and murderers you were terrified. They’d escaped from Arkham days ago and already managed to murder dozens of people. This was far too close to the action for you, as you heard Jerome’s laugh bellowing down the hall from the bullpen; a laugh you remembered from one of your early cases at the precinct. You had felt bad for him and tried to help him when his mother died. You will never forget the laugh he let out when Jim realized he wasn’t as innocent as you’d thought. It ran a chill through your spine.

Everything started moving too fast when you realized you were being pulled down the hall quickly. Once you realized you were holding hands, you tightly grasped Ed’s hand, not wanting to be separated from him. He brings you further down the hall into the ME’s lab.

“W-where are we going?” You stutter. It’s like your mouth can’t keep up with your racing mind.

“Do you trust me?” He looks at you trying to stay calm.

“Ed, what are you doing?” You’re panicking. He can tell. It’s not hard to tell, as your hands fidget and your breathing is heavy. You’re trying to stay calm.

“(Y/N), I need you to trust me.” He places his hands on your shoulders in an effort to ground you with the pressure. You close your eyes and nod, hesitantly. You do trust him.

Ed runs to the cold lockers and opens one, checking to see if it’s empty. He finds a dead body inside. You cringe. Seeing bodies is rare for you and you’re still getting used to it.

“Oh dear… okay… second times the charm…” He mumbles to himself trying to find an empty locker. “Bingo!” He smiles, finding an empty one. The wheels start to turn in your head.

“No! I’m not getting in there!” Your panic increases. Ed shushes you.

“This is our best chance. I promise I’ll let you out as soon as I can.”

“We won’t be together?” Your eyes start to burn. You try to keep back tears. You’re shaking.

“We won’t both fit in the same one. I’m gonna go in the one above you-“

“No no please I- I don’t wanna be by myself! Please don’t leave me!” You cut him off and beg him. Ed awkwardly rubs his thumbs across your shoulders where he places his hands again, still trying to ground you. It’s awkward, but it’s still somewhat calming.

“I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I promise. I need you to trust me.” You’re not sure if it’s because it’s life or death, or if it’s because it’s Ed, but you reluctantly let him help your shaking body into the mortuary cabinet. When it comes time to let go of his hand and close the cabinet, you don’t want to. Despite quickly running out of time, he knows he needs to be patient. He knows how hard this is for you. He’s always known you’re a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea one of your worst fears was being buried alive. Being stuck in a cold locker wasn’t too far from either of those things. He can hear footsteps far down the hall. The Maniax were never subtle. He kisses the hand he’s holding quickly before closing your locker and climbing into his own. You were surprised by the kiss, but you couldn’t think about that right now and what it could have meant. Your mind couldn’t keep up. He had to leave his own locker unlocked, unable to properly close it from the inside, but he locked yours to make it look more convincing.

When Ed heard you cry, he began to whisper, hoping he could be loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough for the Maniax to not notice. “It’s okay, (Y/N). I’m still here.” It was enough to quiet your sobs. Tears silently streamed down your cheeks. Ed’s voice had a certain gentleness to it when he spoke to you. He was being especially gentle now. You had seen him angry, upset, anxious, energetic, but his calm voice was reserved for you. Even in this moment when he was admittedly not very calm, he was trying his best to mask his own fears to keep you safe.

You always reserved parts of yourself for each other; parts of yourselves that the other person enabled you to be. You were never as bold as you wanted to be, but when people were rude to Ed you stuck up for him. He brought out a more confident version of you. For Ed, he knew you struggled with staying calm when you were stressed, upset, anxious or scared, even when you were happy. All of your emotions were so big and you rarely knew how to contain them. He tried to stay calm because he knew you saw him as a calming person in your life. He liked being your hero when everyone else only saw him as a weak, odd, nuisance. He also liked that he could read you and that you were honest with him. He trusted you and it helped keep the voice in his head at bay. He didn’t have to question himself with you. He didn’t have to take advice from the voice in his head.

You tried to keep your meltdown as quiet as possible when you heard footsteps approach. They were heavy, not ones you recognized. You knew it had to be one of the Maniax, probably the cannibal. You tried to make your breath as quiet as possible. After what you assume was a poor sweep of the room, the man leaves.

After what seems like hours of being trapped in a corpse you finally hear sirens and then chatter. You hear Ed climb out of the locker above you. He opens your locker and you let out an audible sob.

“I think they’ve gone.” He says, pulling out the drawer to let your body get some much needed air. You start gasping and sobbing, shaking on the drawer of the mortuary cabinet. Your body jolts up. You just want to get away from the locker.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” Ed catches your body, as your start to fall from the drawer to the floor. You sit on the floor and cling to him, sobbing. At first awkward, he runs his hand along your back, trying to sooth you with the repetitive motion.

“I felt like I was dead- like- like I was gonna get buried alive-“ You gasp for air, sobbing between your words. Ed shushes you.

“We’re okay. They’re gone.” He promises.

You hear fast approaching footsteps. Your brain is moving too fast to decide if the footsteps are familiar or not. You just bury yourself further into Ed’s chest.

“Detective Gordon is here.” He informs you and you relax only slightly.

“Nygma, are they okay?” Jim asks.

“No mortal wounds, they’re just a bit shaken up.” He lets him know.

“You two should probably still get checked out. I need to finish scanning the building for everyone else. So far we’ve got 9 cops dead in the bullpen and… and the commissioner is dead.” He says. It’s almost like you hear Jim, but you don’t. Your mind can’t keep up with anything that’s happening.

After a while you find yourself sitting, waiting for Lee to check you out. Ed had been pulled away for a few minutes to do his job. He didn’t want to leave you, but you assured him you were fine. You didn’t feel fine, but you knew they needed him. As long as you could see him on the other side of the bullpen, you were reluctant, but okay with him stepping away. He left his jacket draped around your shoulders. It helped to be surround by his smell and warmth.

When it was time to go home, Ed guided you to his car. You hadn’t spoken much, but at least you’d finally stopped crying. The car ride was quiet. The only thing that filled the air was Ed’s occasional hum with the radio. Neither of you quite knew what to say. It was a bit ironic considering usually nobody could ever get you two to shut up. You didn’t speak up until he turned onto your street.

“I don’t want to go home.” You said quietly, feeling the panic rise again at the thought of being alone at home again.

“That’s understandable. Would you like to stay at my place?” He asks. You nod, silently. He flicks his turn signal and starts the drive to his place.

“Welcome to Château Nygma.” He smiles, turning on the light. You still have his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Despite the terror you’ve been through today, his smile is refreshing. You don’t question how he can stay so seemingly sane in times like these, but you’re just glad somebody is. You need that. Maybe you should have questioned it, but you didn’t. He has a nice apartment. It’s not too big. Why would it be for a man who lived by himself? It’s just the right size with cool windows and a comfortable setup.

“Do you want something to eat? I’m a good cook.” He smiles. You don’t know how he can continue to smile, but you’re glad. It starts to make you feel safer. It’s nice to be in a locked apartment with just you and Ed. It’s nice to be in a quiet, secluded place, but not feel alone. It’s far better than sitting on your bed, scared of any serial killers that could be hiding underneath the frame and jumping at any people you hear in the stairwell of your apartment, with an open case file sitting next to you, worried the killers you’re reading about could be onto you any second. Today was a very close call. Too close.

“If you’re not sure, that’s okay too.” He continues, noticing you’re deep in thought.

“Oh…uh yeah… I’m not sure what I want… It’s like my body needs things, but I’m just a little bit too overwhelmed to figure it out.” You look down, shyly.

“Do you want to just sit? I can put on some music?” He questions referencing the record player with his hands.

“That sounds okay. I think I can do that.” You nod. He puts on some quiet music, not too loud to overstimulate you and you make your way to the couch. He brings you a glass of water.

“I can imagine it might be hard for you to have an appetite given your increased levels of adrenaline today, but you should at least drink this.” You take the water from him and begin to sip it. You didn’t realize how nice cold water could feel. You drink it quickly, before setting the glass down.

“Thank you.”

Ed sits down and you gravitate towards him.

“How do you do it?” You ask.

“How do I do what?” He looks for clarification.

“Your job. There’s so much death everywhere.”

“I don’t know. I just sort of do. Honestly I think it’s fascinating…” He pauses, looking away from you. “Sorry. That probably sounds weird.”

“It does, but that’s okay. I like the fact that you’re different and you’re honest. It’s comforting. You’re a better man than all of those crooked cops walking around beating up women and mobsters alike.”

“You think so?” He asks.

“Yeah, I do.” You smile. This time it’s a real smile. Ed smiles too. It’s nice to know after everything he’s done for you to make you comfortable, you can say something to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry all of this has been so awful for you.” He says.

“I know we’re doing good and it’s important to do good in a world of so much bad, but sometimes I just wish nobody had to do it. I can’t even fathom what would make somebody what kill another person. Maybe out of necessity, but it scares me that people actually enjoy it.”

“Yeah.” Ed shifts uncomfortably. You think he must agree with you and that’s why he’s unconformable. You don’t know that he killed Officer Doherty for abusing Kristen just over a month ago.

The two of you talk for quite some time until you end up falling asleep next to him on the couch. He doesn’t mind when you fall into his lap. He lets you sleep, smiling down at you. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to wake you. He was afraid of breathing too deeply and shifting too much underneath you. He eventually falls asleep sitting up with you still in his lap.

Everything is peaceful until you shoot up screaming, in a cold sweat. You’ve had another nightmare. This time is different. You’re disoriented. You don’t know where you are. You feel hands touching you.

“(Y/N), it’s me! It’s Ed! You had another nightmare.” You look at his face to see him distraught, unsure of what to do. Your tossing and turning had woken him up. He was awake only seconds before you.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “I just want it to stop. When will all of this stop?” You cry.

“When will what stop?” He asks.

“Everything! I just want to stop feeling like this. I want to stop being afraid. I should be used to the job by now.”

“Maybe you just need more time to get used to it! I know we talked about time management earlier. I can help you with your schedule.” He offers.

“I don’t want to manage my time. I just want it to freeze. I just wish time would freeze so I could just breathe and catch up!”

Ed looks at you defeated. He doesn’t know what to say. He likes riddles because riddles always have answers. He doesn’t know what to do when there’s a problem with no solution.

“I’m sorry.” He settles with saying. “Would a hug help?” He’s just grasping at anything he’s seen people do when trying to comfort other people with problems and no solutions.

“Yes.” You say quietly, burying your head in his chest. Despite being the one to offer the hug, he’s a little awkward at first. He eventually settles in.

“Is this helping?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him. Of course, Ed being who he is, even now he’s still looking for a solution. He doesn’t realize he may be the solution, or at least someone to help make the problem smaller. “You always help.” You add.

“I’m sure most of our coworkers would disagree.” He laughs.

“I never thanked you for earlier today.” You say quietly.

“It was nothing.” He smiles.

“No, Ed. Keeping me safe in a life or death situation isn’t nothing.”

“I’m sure anyone would have done it.” He argues.

“No, they wouldn’t have.” You tell him.

“I’ll always protect you.” He pulls you closer, shifting awkwardly underneath you. “You know… my apartment is always open if you want to sleep with me- I- I mean sleep with me in attendance- I- I mean sleep with each other- I- I mean near each other- you know! In case you have nightmares!”

“I might just have to take you up on that. This is the first night I’ve felt okay enough to be able to maybe go back to sleep afterwards.” You smile, trying not to laugh. You don’t want him to think you’re making fun of him. Truthfully you think he’s sweet and funny.

“You should go back to sleep and since I didn’t get to make you dinner I’ll be making you the best breakfast of your life tomorrow.” He beams.

“You better.” You snuggle into him. Ed is too awkward to suggest you go lay in his bed tonight and you’re too tired to care. You spend the rest of the night on the couch together. You can save the bed for tomorrow night. You know when you wake up in the morning you’ll be coming back. It was the most sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

Ed wakes up before you and sneaks off the couch to start breakfast. He truthfully was a very good cook. His own sensory issues with food made him very particular about how it’s prepared. You wake up to the smell of something good in the oven. Ed is nowhere to be seen, but you hear him in the bathroom. He’s talking. You knew he often talked to himself, but he sounded like he was talking to someone else. Maybe he was on the phone. You were sure you were hearing one half of a conversation.

“I told you we could trust them. They like me for me. They think I’m a good man.”

[melis-writes]

Blood Money (Tony Montana x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut) Chapter 3 – An Eye For An Eye.

Chapter 2 / Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami." / “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

Tony's fiery gaze burned into the back of your mind but your name etched on his heart from the very moment he knew who you were. Keeping you on his mind like prayer, Tony wastes no time in attempting to squeeze himself out of every interrogation at the Cuban migrant camp he and Manny are detained in. Like a power move claiming he knows you, Tony's beckoning you to meet him once more in your hometown with bold claims striking the attention of your father–one of the most notorious, wealthy businessmen of Miami–with one claim being that of love.

[WARNINGS]: None!

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Oh my goodness, a LONG time coming and the chapter update is finally here at last!! 😭💀 I'm thrilled to update this fic again and share it with the Tony girlies! Battling writer's block and life getting super busy was a chore but I. AM. BACK and writing! And yet I must break everyone's heart again by saying this update of Blood Money officially marks my temporary hiatus of Al fics outside of The Godfather universe. 💔 I will now solely be working on my Godfather fanfics until I'm finished so I have ample time and opportunity to write more consistently and update fics even more often than I ever have. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and I will finish it someday soon! For now, let's dive back into Tony and Celeste's story!! 🥺🤞🏻

With a taste for success and dollar bills, Tony Montana’s drug empire grew in vast wealth, power and influence by your side as the kingpin’s lover. From sharing an intimate history in Cuba, you and Manny Ribera were the only ones to believe and support Tony from rags to riches. Embroiled in the same lifestyle and sharing enemies, you and Tony come to build your empire and world together with the threat of it collapsing from the inside. As partnership turns to betrayal and thrill to danger, you find yourself in-between ultimatums and sacrifices for the man you love.

'I'm always in the right, man. Always am.' The shit-eating grin over Tony's face spreads equal amounts of tension and frustration throughout the interrogation room; keeping the officers on edge for word back from your family knowing Tony could potentially be a protected individual under the Navarro family while thinking at the very same time that Tony could be bullshitting everyone just to waste their time.

Tony sits all too comfortably in front of the officers with his arms crossed, all the more amused watching them huff quietly to themselves and glower back at Tony every few minutes.

"So--" Tony attempts to start a lively conversation on his behalf.

"You shut the fuck up, Montana," the first cop points his finger at Tony. "Don't say a fuckin' word."

"We're not playing with you," the second cop scowls. 

"Alright, man. Alright," Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely, "sheesh. I keep quiet when people talk on the phone, like Mama taught me, okay?"

Letting out another shaky sigh of irritation, the officers exchange a glance amongst one another, knowing well enough that if they've bothered the Navarro family for no good reason, it'll result in a guaranteed suspension without pay and likely following up with getting fired. 

Then again, there's always the possibility that it could be Tony finding himself in hot water with the Navarros due to his cockiness and stupidity, and if that means having Tony out of the refugee camp and no longer able to be a nuisance, then it'll be both a best case scenario and a relief for the officers involved. Still, it's all too much to consider at once.

"Tell the supervisor," the first cop mumbles, "he needs to know what's going on."

"Will do," the other sighs, taking a seat back at his desk to grab out his notepad.

Ignoring Tony outright, the first cop moves his stool over to the telephone by the desk and sits next to it before beginning to dial the Navarro family reception line.

'By heart?' Tony's eyes flicker with interest, noticing how the officer has your family's number memorized by heart—rendering him surprised and amused at the same time. 

'So they know her,' Tony thinks to himself. 'She not a nobody. She a somebody. I got her name on the line for me. Just for me.' 

This means more to Tony than you can already know, even if all you'll ever do is show up to spit on his face and blame him for wasting your time. The satisfaction alone is everything for him.

Both officers continue to ignore Tony and avoid making any sort of eye contact with him; murmuring ushered words to one another and pressing through more numbers on the telephone as it rings.

Only mere moments after does Tony notice how tense the officer on the telephone gets by the way his muscles jerk up in response to the telephone being answered by a monotone-voiced, middle-aged man speaking out.

"Navarro residence."

The very individual answering the phone would be your father's advisor and right-hand man, Gabriel.

"Cuban Detention Center, Officer Frank speaking," the cop says politely, clearing his throat. "May we please speak to Mr. Navarro?"

There's a short pause on the other end of the line. "Do you have a request or appointment booked in advance?"

"No," Officer Frank answers quietly. "Um, ahem—this is in relation to immigration and detention. There's a gentleman here claiming he was requested by name from a potential--" Frank scowls over at Tony. "Sponsor." 

Gabriel's tone of voice grows considerably agitated. "I trust you have a good reason for wishing to bother Mr. Navarro. You will not hear it from me."

"Greatly appreciated," Officer Frank awkwardly replies as Gabriel begins to transfer the call to your father's personal telephone.

Fully aware of the telephone conversation ongoing with Gabriel, your father—Darren Navarro--is two stories up in his penthouse—still in his Versace morning robe, smoking a Cuban cigar.

His first words to Officer Frank once the line transfer is, "You better have a good reason for reaching my personal number, Frank."

"Oh yes sir, o-of course," Frank stammers. "I apologize, sir. I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but this is urgent."

"So you say so," your father is unmoved by the sudden sense of urgency. "I suppose it is coming from the immigration and refugee department. I've sponsored nobody, so what is all of this?"

Officer Frank's skin drains of color as he nervously exchanges a glance with his colleague, glumly shaking his head. "Um, sir, there was a mention of your daughter's name by a Cuban migrant."

Your father raises a brow, leaning back on his velvet chaise. Your last trip to Cuba and mentions of "Tony Montana" and "Manny Ribera" easily come to Darren's mind. 

"Interesting," Darren muses. "And what is this individual's name?"

"Tony Montana," Tony speaks up loud and clear, grinning. "And with my best friend, Manny Ribera."

"Shut the fuck up!" The second cop hisses, almost jumping out from behind his desk to hit Tony.

Darren's all very well aware Tony is in the same room and must know who he is by now, having heard everything. 

"Uh huh," your father chuckles. "I see."

"Sorry, sir. I'm so sorry," Frank scoffs, swallowing hard.

"Stop your whining," Darren rolls his eyes. "I heard the man loud and clear. This is no request for me but for my daughter then."

"The migrant claims to know Celeste Navarro personally, sir." Frank clears his throat.

"Yes, he does. That much is true," your father nods.

"May we speak to Celeste, sir?"

"No need," Darren brushes off the request, glancing towards his bedroom door. "Celeste will soon be on her way to greet both gentlemen personally.

"This man--" Frank begins, but is abruptly cut off and corrected by your father.

"Men," your father clarifies, refusing to exclude Manny. "There are two of them after all, so Celeste will see both. She knows both of them, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Darren blows out the smoke from his cigar around him, resting his cigar between his fingers as he admires the afternoon light glistening over his gold rings and jewelry. "Treat these men well. I'm aware of the reputation your detention center has and its demands. 'Gentle' is not in your vocabulary so be respectful. These are friends of the Navarro family and I expect them to be treated as such."

"Yes, sir..." Mortified, the officers stare in shock at a smirking Tony before your father hangs up on them.

~

Giving a drawn-out sigh, you roll your eyes in annoyance at the back cover of the gossip magazine you’ve been reading; already questioning why you bother with the tabloids just to entertain you.

Flipping back to the front cover of a bikini model on Miami beach, you rest your chin over your fist, wearing a flowing, pastel pink satin nightgown—laying on your stomach and dangling your feet, attempting to beat boredom.

Frank Sinatra’s “All By Myself” plays softly on your white and gold decorated record player, a compliment to the similar colors lavishly decorated over your bedroom.

Practically the size of a house’s first floor, your bedroom itself spans 1,500 square feet and is fit for a princess, covered in various shades of pink with a glimmering diamond chandelier above you.

The very king-size bed you lounge upon is adorned with a bubble-gum pink cashmere and quilt duvet and six silk encased pillows, a polar bear throw in the center of your bedroom upon the marble floors striking attention to the wall fixtures and architecture of the bedroom taking inspiration from the Palace of Versailles.

You furrow your brows in annoyance at the magazine in your hands, only to have your thought suddenly interrupted by the sound of your father knocking on your door.

You peek up in interest, brushing a curtain of your hair back. “Come in.”

“Hi, darling,” your father enters your room with a warm smile—holding a glass of iced rum in one hand and concealing something in his fist with the other. “Didn’t think I’d be giving you good news so quick, eh?”

Chuckling, your father opens his fist and lightly tosses your car keys over to you.

Reaching your arm out, you snatch the car keys mid-air—staring at your father in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami,” your father says with a laugh. “Immigration services at the Cuban refugee camp called me just earlier.”

“Huh,” you blink, rubbing your temple as your memory recollects, hitting you all at once.

“I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face.”

‘Tony Montana.’ Your face flushes red as you clear your throat, glancing up at your father. “They called you?”

“Mhmm,” your father nods, taking a small sip from his drink. “Quick to it, I’ll give them that. I don’t think that Tony of yours has been there for very long from the sounds of it. They wanted to reach you, actually.”

“Makes sense of course,” you slide aside your magazine, sitting up in bed. “Great…”

“What do you think?” Your father raises a brow.

“I’m not thinking of anything,” you give your head a shake.

“No? You sure you don’t owe this Tony and his friend a favor or two?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything,” you roll your eyes out of frustration. “But for Tony,” you clutch your car keys, “if he wants to see me, I’ll go see him. I’ll see him, but I don’t know what I can do for him.”

“Is this really someone worth wriggling out of months worth of paperwork and getting into the front of the line? ‘Cause I’ll let you decide that,” your father shrugs. 

Getting off of your bed, you eye your purse from across the bedroom. “I think I’ve already made my decision.”

“I’m sure you made the right one,” your father turns back on his heel.

“Is Tony waiting for me right now?” You head over to your walk-in closet.

“He is,” your father confirms, placing his hand over your doorknob to close the door behind him. “And I think you’re the only person he wants to see right now.”

~

‘Tony Montana…’ You let out a soft sigh, leaning your head back against your car’s headrest. ‘Again and so soon.’ With great effort, you push aside the fluttering feeling in your heart every time Tony’s name and face cross your mind; clearing your throat and putting your Armani sunglasses on.

Starting up your Mercedes-Benz 380SL Convertible and pulling out of your estate’s parking lot carefully, you focus on nothing but getting directly to immigration services—able to collect your thoughts.

Letting the warm summer breeze flow through your hair as you step on the gas, determined to know just why Tony’s got your name mixed up with the law.

You may not have taken the rugged, cocky stranger very seriously back in Cuba but you’d be lying to yourself right now if you said you weren’t a little intimidated by Tony’s timing.

‘Didn’t think my name would cross your lips so soon either… Full of surprises.’ 

Tony knows he can sit and wait in the interrogation room for an eternity to come so as long as it’s promised you’ll show up—riding off on the idea of seeing you again like a lingering high.

Driving through the streets of Miami, you tap your French tip manicure against your steering wheel patiently through every red light.

Your eyes flicker over beach-bound tourists making their way over the crosswalks, noting the impatient drivers on the other side of the intersection honking at each other and tossing cigarettes out the window; the scent of body odor and beer not far from the beach itself.

Giving your head a shake, you scrunch your nose in disgust and drive off—not far from reaching the secluded immigration center from downtown.

You arrive a little over ten minutes later, driving into the clearance section with the rest of the other drivers waiting their turn to speak with an officer at the booth and be admitted. 

Resting your arm on the windowpane of your car, you peek your head out of the window just enough for your face to be seen, and just as you expected, you’re recognized by an officer at a booth opposite from you almost instantaneously. 

‘Uh huh.’ Noticing the officer blocking the path of the upcoming car who was next in line, you slowly drive up as he gestures for you to follow.

“How is that fucking fair?!” You hear a honk and shout of irritation from the other driver, simply ignoring him and continuing to cautiously drive up.

“Blow it out your ass, buddy,” the officer rolls his eyes.

Parking your car, you glance up at the officer who only gives you a brief nod and lets you through without a single word; just one of the many perks of being the daughter of one of Miami’s most notorious businessmen.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath as you approach the guarded parking lot, seeing another officer heading directly your way. ‘Let’s see what this is really all about.’

Taking off your sunglasses, you make eye contact with the officer who furrows his brows at you in confusion; more than likely wondering how you got in so quickly and just who you are to be taking priority over anyone else.

“And who might you be?” The officer asks smugly.

“I think you know who I am,” you reply back coyly. “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

~

As smug and prideful as he can be, Tony slouches in his seat with his arms crossed and completely relaxed as if he’s the one arranging the interrogation rather than being interrogated. 

As apparent as the officers make it seem to Tony how thoroughly pissed, exhausted, and anxious they are dealing with him, Tony reflects it with his nonchalant attitude on purpose.

“You think you’re taking some sort of vacation, Montana?” Officer Frank scowls.

 “Sure, man,” Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely. “I think my vacation is on the way.”

Ignoring the immigration officer who escorts you inside the facility as some mock bodyguard, you make your way towards the entrance of the interrogation offices where the officer gestured you to, making note of the maximum-security gates and barbed wire high walls.

Giving a small huff of annoyance and adjusting your hair, you approach a narrow hallway inside the next building and set your sunglasses on your head.

“This way, please,” the officer guiding you murmurs and politely steps in front of you.

Unphased and hardly listening, you follow the officer until you both reach an interrogation door marked “11B”.

You maintain your distance from both the officer and the door as the officer leans over and quickly knocks on the door not to ask to come in but to signal his entrance.

A wide, playful grin spreads over Tony’s face as he turns his head back to face the door—absolutely thrilled to see it about to open in front of him.

Fear simmers back into the officers the moment they spot a feminine silhouette behind the tinted glass of the door, instantly remembering now more than ever that their jobs are on the line.

Pushing open the door, the officer guiding you inside steps in first and out of your way—clearing his throat to speak out, “Miss Celeste Navarro is here, sir.”

‘Celeste Navarro…’ Seeing you before him once more, Tony’s pupils widen as a strong surge of attraction hits him—coursing through his veins.

Tony’s muscles tighten and he feels the heat of arousal trickling inside of him as he locks eyes with you, stunned and utterly admiring every inch of your figure.

Attempting to look at you with more humility than defeat or nervousness, the officers are put off by your very presence and can say or do nothing as you cross your arms; expectant and domineering before everyone else.

You’re the only spot of color in the otherwise dull room filled with grey uniforms and sweaty men; dressed in an Armani, pastel pink, cropped tweed blazer, a matching mini skirt, a white chiffon Calvin Klein blouse with a bow at your collar and four-inch glossy nude pumps. 

“There she is, she’s the one,” Tony smirks at you—breaking the momentary silence in the room.

“Ahem,” Officer Frank clears his throat, beginning to sit upright in his seat. “You know this man, miss?”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, unamused. “It feels like I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Yes, baby,” Tony mutters to himself inaudibly. ‘Come to me. You’re here now.’

“Miss Navarro,” the other officer begins to speak up awkwardly, “apologies if this is an intrusive question however this man claims to know you and—”

”And she’s my fiancée, as I was telling you. Okay, man?” Tony interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Can I have some privacy with my fiancée, man?”

‘Fiancee? What the hell is he talking about?’ Struck into shock by Tony’s words, you hold your posture and expression, but you know where Tony’s coming from and just why he’s deciding to play this game with you now.

“Yes, so what?” You snap back, noticing the playful twinkle in Tony’s eyes. “It’s true, he is my fiancée.”

‘Tony… I hope you know what you’re doing. I swear… Now is not the time to put on a show.’ 

The officers stare at each other in utter discomfort, remaining silent. 

“But I don’t recall that being anyone’s business except mine,” you narrow your eyes at them, taking a step forward to Tony.

Tony takes your soft hand in his, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand softly. “See?”

“Well,” Officer Frank swallows hard, “if that’s the case—”

Your eyes snap open in shock as Tony leans up in his seat, suddenly cupping both of your cheeks and immediately pulling you into a crushing, deep kiss.

‘Oh!’ Your lips collide over his and your eyes flutter shut in response, feeling the warmth of his tongue teasing the tip of yours in loving passion without a care—ensnared in the moment of having you as his fiancée with no intentions of letting go. 

[formosusiniquis]

my @steddiesummerexchange gift fic for @oh-stars! I was so excited to work on this prompt: penpals through childhood until they both graduate -- road trip to meet one another in person. Epistolary fics are always a favorite of mine. oh-stars is such a brilliant writer and bright spot in the fandom, I was excited to be able to write a little something for her, I hope you like it!

October 13, 1976 Dear Eddie,

Mrs. Simpson says I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering to be my partner even though you’re a fifth grader. I don’t know why I should though since now I actually have to do this stupid pen pal project. I know she only paired me with an older kid cause she thinks I’m dumb. But thanks for the extra work I guess.

She said she wasn’t gonna read these before she sent them off, just that she was gonna make sure they were a page front and back like they were supposed to be. But I don’t really believe her. So I guess I should actually write this right.

Hi Eddie. My name is Steve Harrington. I’m 10 years old because I got put in Kindergarten late cause my parents were too busy in wherever my dad does his business stuff and my au pair -- that’s fancy for babysitter who lives in your house -- couldn’t do it. My birthday is in September, almost at the end (the 27th), so I guess that’s why it was okay. When’s your birthday (Mrs. Simpson says a friendly letter is supposed to ask questions.)

My favorite things are yellow and sports. I’m the best at red rover and kickball, Tommy says it's cause I’m the oldest and biggest in our class but he’s a sore loser and couldn’t even break through the girl side of the red rover line. Do you play games? Mrs. Simpson talks about your Hawkins like it’s on a different planet but you’re just in Kentucky. It’s right across the river. I’ve been there a couple times when Dad likes me and we’ll go watch Louisville play basketball. Basketball is my favorite sport but the only outside court is at the park and the big teenagers are always on it.

When you write back you can tell me what sports and games you like. Does your Dad ever bring you to Indiana to watch stuff? The Pacers only played okay last season and they lost to Kentucky in the playoffs. Is that who you root for?

Oh and I’m supposed to ask you about school since this is like homework. I kinda already did that at the beginning, remember. Do you like English or something? Is that why you asked for extra work? Or was your pen pal last year just a super dud?

That’s front and back now.

Sincerely (cause we aren’t friends), Steve Harrington

October 25, 1976 Dear Steve,

First of all I didn’t ask to have to write a letter to some fourth grader. I was told because I’m the only kid who didn’t do it last year that I had to be your partner. I do like English but extra work isn’t fun for anybody. I’ve never had a pen pal before so you’re the best and the worst one I’ve ever had. Are teachers allowed to call people dumb at your school? Mine just look at me like a really weird bug on the road or something.

Your teacher sounds like a real pain in the side, that’s what my Uncle Wayne would say. I think it’s cause he’s pretending he doesn’t know the word bitch. She talks about this Hawkins like it’s on another planet because it’s in the Appalachian Mountains and people think everyone here is stupid and marries their cousins.

Some of them are stupid but they would be like that anywhere it’s not because they live out here.

I’m actually from Lexington though so it isn’t even my Hawkins, but my Uncle Wayne lives here and he has to watch me for a little while.

You didn’t really ask me anything good about myself. I’m Eddie Munson, I’m going to be 11 when it’s my birthday this year (Halloween the coolest birthday cause everyone gives you candy). Red and black are my favorite colors. I don’t like any sports at all, they’re all stupid but everyone knows about basketball here, it's more important than church. Everywhere has games but when you get to fifth grade you learn which ones are for babies.

I like imagination games the best cause then I don’t have to worry about anyone else playing with me. There’s lots of woods here so I can go in them and hunt monsters or dragons or be an elf like in my favorite books.

Wayne’s looking over my shoulder and says I’m supposed to ask you a question. So what’s your favorite book? Do you like fantasy, that’s my favorite but the science fiction stuff with aliens is cool too.

I know you asked about my dad but since I live with Wayne I’m gonna use him instead. He hasn’t ever taken me to Indiana cause “his truck weren’t meant to leave these hills” whatever that means. He said he roots for The Colonels but he wishes your Pacers luck this season. What’s a Pacer anyway?

Do I have to ask you about school too? I don’t think this is homework for me more like extra credit. If you don’t like English what do you like? Don’t say recess or lunch those are cheating answers.

Not your friend either, Eddie Munson

Continue on AO3

[esoteric-joke]

Interview with Brooklyn_Babylon

(#Interview3)

Welcome to the next interview of the Dear Writer Project. This Sunday I’m here with Gina (twopoppies here on Tumblr). Thank you so much for participating and supporting my project. It was a pleasure to interview you.

Gina about her writing process, her inspirations and what she finds most challenging about writing:

What does your writing process look like?

Oh, you're going to call me out right from the get-go, huh? LOL! My writing process is that I am a complete pantser. I hate outlining and I'm not good at it (probably why I hate it). I generally get inspired by something visual and then build a story around that. The difficulty is that often, there's a concept, but there's no real story to tell. Or, I can't quite flesh it out enough to make it worth writing. But when something connects, I go bother India (indiaalphawhiskey on Tumblr) who is my beta/BFF/cheerleader and we'll talk through the story idea.

She's super helpful in terms of pushing me to think it through enough that I can write a very basic outline of what needs to happen to get from A to B. Then, I wing it. LOL!

What does writing mean to you?

From the time I was a kid, I've always been involved in doing something artistic--from fine art, to costume design, to writing, etc. I've just always needed some way to express myself, creatively. It took me a long time to get comfortable writing fiction because there are a few people in my family who are highly respected authors, and I felt I needed something of my own to sink my teeth into. But now that I've started, I realize how much I do love it (even when I hate it), and how much it allows me to dig deep into my own thoughts and emotions and be more self-aware. Beyond that, I think I'm at my most comfortable when I feel I'm helpful/supportive/nurturing. I used to write non-fiction that gave me that outlet. It's interesting that I can see those aspects in my fiction writing, as well.

Do you know before you start writing if an idea is going to become a oneshot or a longer fic?

I can generally tell if there's enough of a story to make it a chaptered fic. Sometimes the chapters just separate naturally.

Like, in An Invincible Summer, the story unfolded so that each chapter was a different month. But I had a basic idea of how I wanted the story to progress over that time period. I think, for the most part, I let the story dictate how it's going to flow.

You don’t write (or publish) as regularly as some other writers in the fandom. Why is that and would you like to write/publish more in the future?

Part of the reason is that I have a really busy life outside of the fandom (and writing). I also don't like to write just to fill up space. And I don't want to publish anything I don't think is the best I'm capable of at that moment.

On top of that, I'm just not one of those people who has a million stories in my head. I'm very visually stimulated and there are long periods of time where I just don't feel inspired. I also second-guess myself a lot and often end up shelving my WIPs. And... even when I'm inspired, I tend to write slowly. I like to take time to make sure I'm really saying what I want to say in the best way I can. I want to grow and challenge myself with each story I publish. I just don't see a point in doing it without that sort of intention.

On which of your stories did you write the longest?

I think An Invincible Summer probably took the longest. But it was also one of the easiest for me to write because the story just wrote itself in some ways. I had a much clearer picture from the start of how things were going to unfold. At the same time, there were moments that just happened as I wrote that ended up shifting the story from what I'd originally planned.

I recently went back and re-wrote that fic, adding another 10K to flesh it out better. I'm so much happier with it (even though I loved it before), but I haven't published the updated version on AO3. Not sure whether I will.

Which of your stories came together the fastest?

The first one (Whoever, However). But it's also only 9K. Harry dropped that Beauty Papers spread and my brain exploded. The story was all there. I think Hike Up Your Skirt was probably the next quickest (again, it's not terribly long), but that one I originally wrote for the Anonymous Unicorns collection so there was a lot of freedom in getting to write anything I wanted without fear of judgment. If I could only harness that, I'd be able to bang them out!

What fic of yours was the hardest to write?

I think Literally Making Love.

It was an unusual premise, in that it's about a robot and a human falling in love, but I really struggled with whether I should make it "more" than a love story. It felt like it deserved to be "more", or that it should have more about how AI changes the world and a conversation about loneliness and the way the world contributes to that. So I kept feeling like I wasn't going down the right path with what I was writing, but India reminded me that there's just as much value in a lighthearted story as there is in "serious" writing. We all know the joy of sinking into a comfort fic, or kicking our feet at something really sweet and happy. So I let Literally Making Love be what it wanted to be and I was ultimately super proud of it. And, in the end, I think I did a good job of dealing with the ethical issues, even though I didn't make that the center of the fic.

What inspires you most while writing?

Visuals to begin with. I tend to get inspired by photos or a piece of art. Sometimes song lyrics. But visuals keep me going so I make moodboards for myself and I find quotes or pictures on Tumblr that feel like they belong to the story. I think all of my fics have a link to an inspiration tag on my blog.

And then talking through things with India.

It's so helpful to have someone who gets what you're shooting for and who has the same sense of what makes for good writing. So I'll brainstorm with her when I'm stuck or give her sections to see if it's reading the way I want it to... It keeps me going.

I don't know how writers do it all by themselves. There are times when I've read something so many times that I can't even tell if it's any good. And I do the same for her... helping her get through her writing challenges or brainstorming her projects also makes me a better writer.

In the notes of Literally Making Love you mentioned a 9 month long writers block. What helped you out of it?

Truly it was just that piece of fan art I linked in the note at the start. I'd never seen that artist's work before and this drawing of Louis building an unfinished Harry ended up on my dash and I said, "Well, I'd read the hell out of that." Sadly, no one else was going to write it for me, so I had to do it myself.

While talking about this, I pointed out that I searched a few tags of this particular trope after I finished reading Literally Making Love and couldn’t find more than a handful of fics, which I was surprised by.

Gina thinks people are put off by the idea even if there are so many ways to handle it that could make for a beautiful story.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

I was about to say finding a title, but then I realized that I only had trouble with that in two of the five I wrote.

Hmm. Honestly, I think the most difficult thing for me to write are arguments/fights.

I tend to be really passive-aggressive when I argue, and that doesn't make for very good reading. So I really have to work at crafting a back-and-forth that feels natural but also packs enough of a punch for the scene to work. In An Invincible Summer, the argument scene was pretty pivotal, and one of my betas at the time made me re-write it three times before she signed off on it.

Is there anything you can tell me about future projects you’re planning?

I'm working on another historical fic at the moment. It's slow burn and longer than anything I've written before. So that's a challenge. It's set in the 1880s between the Belle Epoch debauchery and decadence of Paris, and Victorian London's rigid social structure and moral conservatism. Basically, Harry is a French ballet dancer turned sex worker/courtesan. Louis is a British aristocrat whose father has sent him off to Paris to get "the gay" out of his system before he has to marry. There are some twists and turns, and I'm having a lot of fun trying to keep things sexy and exciting for a modern reader while still being true to the time period.

I still don't have a title, and I'm still working on a brief description to sum it up. But... I'm about 60K in and I'm having fun.

When I told Gina that that sounds like you’d have to but lot of research into it, she said:

So much research! But I actually love that part. I get really into the nitty gritty and look up everything. For example, did you know the ice cream cone wasn't invented until 1896 (although not patented until 1903)? LOL! I had to change a scene I was writing because all of a sudden, I thought, "Did they have ice cream then? How did they keep it cold? How did they eat it?" I honestly hate reading something when little details are wrong. It totally pulls me out of a story.

For the next part of the interview, I asked Gina a few questions about her works in particular.

Gina about her favourite scene she wrote, her experience with writing before writing fanfics and being inspired by her own family’s history:

What work of yours is your personal favourite?

Hm. I think Literally Making Love is my favorite because it's the most unique concept, and I'm really proud of some of the writing in that one.

Hike Up Your Skirt is, I think, my most popular one. But that's not surprising because it's complete filth.

Do you have a favourite scene that you wrote?

There's a scene in Literally Making Love when they're walking the dog through the woods, and they're talking about the concept of being lonely, and Harry realizes he's the only one in the world who can understand anything he's experienced. I just really loved how that scene came together. To me it's very visual, and it's got that kind of poetic, dreamy feeling to it that I love to find in fics (and am forever trying to emulate, but I think that might be the only time I've succeeded so far).

I told Gina that this was a scene that definitely made me think about the concept of being all alone with an experience. Here’s what she said about that:

I like moments in a story that make you stop and think about more than just the story you're reading. I think these days, we can much more easily connect with others who can understand most of our experiences very deeply. Although, I imagine if you were the only highly advanced AI robot in the world, you might have some experiences no one else has had to grapple with.

Is there a work of yours that was planned to go completely different than it came out in the end?

There are definitely moments within the stories that I never planned on, and they changed some aspects of how the story ultimately came together.

For example, in An Invincible Summer, the idea for Harry to hold on to memories by getting a camera popped out of nowhere.

In Literally Making Love, the scene of Louis painting Harry's tattoos over his scars came in a dream and that meant I added the aspect of Harry's body dysmorphia. So, little things for sure.

Whoever, However was your first fic you published. Did you write in any form before that?

I did.

I wrote non-fiction for a bunch of magazines and online outlets. I've also ghostwritten three books.

Beyond that, no. Just lengthy blog posts about two gay boybanders.

What were your inspirations for gathered on wings?

There was a photo of Louis in some sort of haphazardly layered jackets and standing in front of these graffitied walls, and it had this caption, saying that he looked like a PhD candidate at the Sorbonne. That was how the idea started.

I had wanted to write a teacher/student fic without the creepy aspect of grooming and inappropriate conduct, and somehow my comment led to Harry having been his intern and them meeting again years later.

Then, the research on all the modern art and the high-end art world informed the rest of the story.

You didn’t go much into detail how successful Harry’s art got after ‘Comrade’ recommended his art for an exhibition at the Marlborough Gallery. Was that the push Harry’s work needed to get the attention it deserved?

It was.

He'd been relying on sugar daddies to pay his way and to give him the connections to patrons. But Comrade vouching for him opened the doors to him being able to do it independently. It's that feeling of, "If I could just get my foot in the door, I could show them what I can do."

That was his foot in the door.

Gathered on wings was my first attempt at writing a chaptered fic, and there was a huge learning curve. There are parts of it I really like and parts I sometimes want to go back and re-write.

Do you think Louis’ identity in gathered on wings always stayed hidden even after they got engaged (and eventually married)?

I like to imagine that as Harry became more widely known, people became interested in his partner. And Louis would then decide to reveal his identity with a new installation that they collaborated on.

Staying hidden when your partner is famous is probably a hard thing to do.

I think so. Especially if you're in the same field. In a way, it mirrors the idea of the two of them coming out at some point.

You said in the notes for An Invincible Summer that it’s inspired by your grandfather’s life. Was that your only inspiration for the story?

It's what set the scene. Other than that, I knew I wanted to write about writing and seeing yourself in a book or feeling understood by someone you never met but who's somehow written about you and your life. The concept of feeling really "seen" is something that shows up again and again for me.

You didn’t go into any detail about Harry’s relationship with his adoptive parents after he left at the end of An Invincible Summer, even though his mother tried to support him as much as she could when he had to leave. Do you think they held contact after Harry was forced to leave or if he/they even went back as a part of H & L’s adventures?

I think Harry managed to stay in touch with his mother secretly and to eventually reunite with his sisters.

When I rewrote the story, I changed the middle sister to a brother to show another way that Harry was treated differently. So I imagine Big Jim and the little brother digging their heels in and acting like he never existed. But Harry and Louis eventually had a beautiful and extensive found family.

The end of Hike Up your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) is pretty much open. How do you think their relationship progressed and do you think they have a chance of having a normal (as in no power imbalance or manipulation) relationship?

Mmm. I actually started writing a second part from Harry's POV where you see that Harry is also playing a game to get Louis to fall for him. I see their relationship becoming a 24/7 Dom/Sub life. I think they're both way too kinky and maybe a little too depraved to have a "normal" relationship.

Are any of your original characters inspired by people you know in your day-to-day life?

No, actually. LOL! Very simple answer. They're all just figments of my imagination.

A lot of other writers in the fandom have difficulties or are just a little uncomfortable with writing smut. That doesn’t seem to be the case for you. Why’s that?

HAHAHAHA! No, I think it’s actually the easiest part for me to write. I’m not sure why. I don’t have a lot of hang ups around sex, so maybe that helps. And I love the idea of character development through intimate scenes.

How did you come up with the idea for your fic rec masterpost here on Tumblr and how did all of that start?

I think it just started because someone asked if I could recommend some fics in a particular category (If I remember correctly, it might have been dystopian fics). And I had too much time on my hands, so I decided to make a header and write little blurbs about why I liked each one I was suggesting.

Somehow that turned into a deluge of people asking for different things and, for whatever reason, I had the time at that moment. So I made rec after rec.

At some point it was annoying that people kept asking for the same things, so I just made an alphabetical masterpost.

Is there a specific trope or genre you’d like to read more of?

Oh, that's a good question. It's so much easier to tell you what I don't like.

Honestly, to me, it's really more about the writing than about the trope or genre. But I do really like a good enemies-to-lovers fic, and if you can write a new twist on a fake relationship, I'm all in.

Do you somehow track the fics you’ve read? And if you do, can you give me a rough number of how many you’ve read?

So, I only bookmark fics I've really loved. Obviously some I love more than others, but I currently have 655 fics bookmarked.

I've been reading in this fandom for 11 years. Some I won't have read all the way through, but counting those, I'm sure I've literally read thousands.

I've gone through periods where I've just got a lot more free time at one point or another. And when I entered the fandom in 2013 there were literally so many terrific fics I didn't know where to start.

And every time you turned around there was another. It was very addicting.

Are you reading anything right now? If not, what was the last thing you’ve read?

I have a hard time reading when I'm actively writing, so nothing really recent.

The last fic I read that I really liked was Danger I Can't Hide by CelticSky. It's actually a WWII fic but set on the airbase where H is a pilot and Louis is a mechanic. It's just so well written and so well researched. Highly recommend.

For the next part of the interview, Gina answered some personal questions about her experiences in the fandom.

Since when are you in the fandom and what made you become a fan?

Since November 2013.

I took my daughter (who was 6 at the time) to see This Is Us. Did a little research to make sure this boy band was appropriate for her and then fell in love with them. We ended up seeing the movie three times, then bought it and watched it at home. She was a Niall girl.

She was my concert buddy for a while. One Direction at the Rose Bowl in 2014 was her first concert.

The weirdest comment you got?

Oh, I get some doozies on Tumblr.

I think one of my favorites was from years ago when I used to do a lot of NSFW fan art. I got an anonymous message from someone claiming to be Harry's lawyer and they were demanding I delete all of my fan art of Harry. HAHAHAHA! Like an attorney would send an anon. Or even ask for something like that. I still laugh when I think about that one.

Harry or Louis?

It's very hard to choose because they're both amazing. I'm a Harry girl from way back. But I obviously love and support Louis, too.

Harry just really inspires me in so many ways. And his music is more my speed.

Your favourite Harry era and your favourite Louis era?

Oh, that's hard. I think Harry's recent era (Harry's House) might be my favorite because he seemed so happy and so self-assured and confident in who he is as a person. He looked fantastic too. Other eras are special to me because of what was going on with the fandom at the time, or because I liked the way he dressed or whatever, but in terms of just enjoying him, I'd have to say this last tour.

Louis is a little more difficult for me because I've had a really hard time with his image over this last tour and his doubling down on babygate. I'm very happy he says he's really happy and proud of his album/tour, but if I had to pick my favorite I feel like he looked the healthiest and most at ease during MITAM promo. Oh, he looked great during his Walls promo, too.

Your favourite movie with H?

My Policeman. It was a bit uneven, but he really blew me away in some of his scenes. He understood that character inside and out.

Your favourite writer(s) in the fandom?

I actually have so many that I like, although many aren’t in our fandom anymore.

It might be easier to link you to a Favorite Authors rec I made a while ago.

What are your absolute favourite fics in the fandom?

I’m going to make it easy on myself again and link you to a Favourite Fics rec.

Is there a fic that is not necessarily your favourite but still always kind of stuck in your head ?

There are fics that aren’t necessarily the most groundbreaking or complex, but something about them makes me keep coming back to re-read. Don't kill me, but... My Favorite Re-Reads.

I wanted to give you a favorite out of that list, but as I scrolled I was like, oh wait, that one! No, that one! So... sorry, you get them all.

What makes you want to stop reading something?

Hm. So many things, honestly.

Writing where people try too hard to be poetic, continuous spelling and grammar mistakes, miscommunication as the only tension, no tension at all, characterizations that make no sense to me, fics that go on and on and on with no attempt at editing, kid fics, etc. I really have very few squicks, but bad writing is hard for me to ignore (I know "bad" is subjective, so I hope no one takes offense at that... just because I don't like it doesn't mean others don't love it).

Your favourite song at the moment?

Chappell Roan is stuck in my head lately. So, I'll say Casual (although Pink Pony Club is a bop).

Your favourite season?

Fall. Absolutely. SO fucking sick of summer.

The most unusual thing that inspired you?

LOL! I'd have to say the Vintage "Sleaze" novel that inspired Hike Up Your Skirt. It was called "Horizontal Secretary".

Who would you most like to read an interview from?

Well, I'm obviously going to say India because I think she's a great writer. But she's also so well-spoken and interesting.

I'd love to read an interview with CelticSky because I loved Danger I Can't Hide so much and I don't know them since they're on Twitter!

Lastly I asked Gina to give every work of hers a colour. Here’s the outcome of that:

Whoever, However -- yellow

Whoever, However is yellow, because when I think about it, I picture the warm, yellow shade of the wood paneling of the room they filmed in.

gathered on wings -- blue

I’m not sure why gathered on wings is blue in my head. Maybe it’s just because that’s the main color of the mood board I made.

An Invincible Summer -- green

An Invincible Summer is green because the rural Georgia setting became one of the characters of the fic. When I think about it, I see the sprawling farm, the rampant kudzu, blueberry fields, lunch under the oak trees… it just feels green to me.

Literally Making Love -- red

Literally Making Love is red because so much of the story is about what it means to be human and even though Harry’s heart isn’t “real” at some point he says to Louis, “Sometimes I feel like you made my heart too small because it doesn’t hold everything I feel for you. I feel it overflowing everywhere.” Or, maybe it’s because it has “Love” in the title. LOL!

Hike Up Your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) -- purple

I don’t know. The first thought that came to me was purple because I pictured Harry’s character with love bite bruises.

A huge thank you to Gina again. Thank you for being so open and honest while answering my questions. I had the best time talking to you and was so invested in every work of yours.